Little big brother
by RedHatMeg
Summary: Mycroft Holmes, to his chagrin, is turned into a five year old. Before he will be changed back to normal, three conditions have to be met and it's up to Sherlock, John, Anthea and Lady Smallwood to fulfill those conditions, while also taking care of a tiny British Government. (Post The Final Problem. Some OOC. Also features odd angelology that shouldn't be taken seriously.)
1. Mycroft Holmes deserves a break

**This is a fruit of me realizing there are no fics with de-aging Mycroft; and that Mycroft has too much responsiblity on his shoulders.**

 **There is also my OC that normally plays the role of sidekick, but I thought that he's perfect for the role he plays here.**

 **Please, leave a comment!**

 **Mycroft Holmes deserves a break**

Sometimes Mycroft felt a little bit overwhelmed.

Scratch that. He felt _immensely_ overwhelmed. But who wouldn't, giving all the responsibilities that was falling on him? He had a country to run and the world always seemed to be either falling apart or on fire. Mycroft had to take care of various tiny factors, have an eye on Britain's allies and enemies, notice little signs of danger before it would threaten the United Kingdom. His work was necessary to England's survival and nobody else could do it, but him.

But he also had to look after Sherlock. Granted, one would think that since his little brother had friends (from John Watson to Lestrade), who were caring for his wellbeing, Mycroft would have less work, but sometimes even with them Sherlock was getting into trouble, and more often than not, his friends were getting into trouble with him. And subsequently Mycroft felt obliged to put them under his protection too.

Then there were his parents. Quite a nice couple, really. And one should always respect their parents, especially in their elderly years. Mycroft wanted to please them, which sometimes proved to be a hard task.

Especially after their last argument…

 _You should have done better._

Mycroft pushed the unwanted memory away and focused on the work. However, at times like these, when he was alone in his office, his mind was filling the silence of the room with unpleasant thoughts. And after latest events with Eurus, he had a lot to think about.

Oh, yeah, Eurus. She was a lot of responsibility too. Mycroft was responsible for her safety and the safety of people she could threaten; for her being well fed and for the staff to not interact with her more than it was necessary; for her having access to medication and for her not being able to pull her sick games on anybody else. More often than not he was worried that it wasn't enough; that she will eventually find a way to manipulate someone into getting her out. It was stressful enough, knowing that he let Moriarty talk with her for five unsupervised minutes. He should have known that it will end badly… but at the time it seemed like a risk worth taking.

It's been about four weeks since his sister killed five people, toying with Sherlock's feelings. Four weeks since she almost drowned doctor Watson in a well and almost made one of her brothers kill the other. Four weeks since their parents learned the truth and confronted their oldest son about the lie he told them. These events were playing in his head as Mycroft tried to come back to his usual duties; to act like everything was back to normal. After all, Baker Street has been renovated and his little brother was doing his detective work again, so why Mycroft shouldn't be taking care of United Kingdom as he was always doing?

But who would be able to successfully come back to his routine after psychological torture? Mycroft had seen a lot in his work in Secret Service. He had time to learn all about the dark parts of humanity. He failed many times and his failures caused deaths of millions. He met countless ruthless individuals who were playing their little mind games on him, when he was making them talk. He survived Moriarty and Magnussen. He thought that he was stronger, cleverer than this. His little sister proved him wrong.

Maybe people around him weren't goldfishes after all. Sherlock was phoning to him many times, asking if he was alright; and sending Lestrade to check on him, like he had a cold or something. Sometimes detective inspector was trying to have small talk with Mycroft to make him relax a little or maybe just know his friend's brother a bit better. Mycroft, however, was always saying he's busy and then he was ordering Anthea to politely escort his guest out. Even Lady Alicia Smallwood was coming to his office and asking if he would like to have a break or go somewhere after the working hours.

It would be quite touching, really, this sudden outburst of care for his sanity, if it wasn't also annoying. He wasn't some frail man. He was the British Government, the Iceman, as Moriarty supposed to call him behind his back. He was always good with managing his emotions.

And yet, in last four weeks he felt tired and overwhelmed. Some part of him thought that a little vacation would be good. Still, he had a brother to take care of, a sister to look over, parents to please and a country to run. Too much responsibility to lend to others. There were things that only Mycroft Holmes could do.

Little did Mycroft know that he was observed. His observer remained invisible to other people due to his small body and otherworldly nature, as he was sitting on the nearest roof and looking at the window in his target's office.

His name was Herbert. He was a cherub. As every respectable cherub he had round face, big, blue eyes and light curly hair. His small wings stayed hidden under his woolen jacket. He seemed innocent and as angel-like as most cherubs in human form could be. But although he was on the side of the angels, Herbert was always considered kind of crazy. And impulsive.

Some angels liked certain humans, almost as much as humans liked fictional characters – they liked to watch them interact with others, struggle with their flaws and troubles, and stand up to challenge at hand. These angels were secretly cheering at said humans' victories, mourning their failures, sometimes even overlooking their faults and focusing on their strengths. And as much as they liked for their humans to be happy, the rules of Heaven were clear about intervening into someone's life – only little changes here and there; allow humans to have a choice.

Then again, Herbert was never much of a law-abiding cherub.

He liked Mycroft Holmes for various reasons. First, the man was doing everything with a style! Who wouldn't admit it, seeing him in this three-piece suit and with a brolly? This man was making tremendous first impressions. Secondly, he was awesome! With his deduction skills, his sword hidden in umbrella, his witty banters with Sherlock, his composure and all around cleverness (watching him was like watching a slightly more sophisticated James Bond). But most of all, Herbert liked the man for acting like he didn't care at all, while in fact caring dearly, especially for his family (well, Herbert was always sucker for brotherly feels). The cherub learned a lot about Mycroft Holmes over past few years and instantly became a fan.

Herbert knew his target will spent this night in his office. He had a plan. A bit risky, but worth a try. Once the cherub was certain that Mycroft fell asleep on his armchair and Anthea left him alone, he materialized inside the office and carefully tiptoed to the slumbering man.

"Sleep well." He said. "Tomorrow, the playtime will start."

* * *

At eight in the morning Anthea expected to see her boss already working. It didn't matter where Mycroft Holmes has been sleeping last night (in his house or in his office), he was always on time. Now and then Anthea was worried about him. After all, he had a really stressful job that sometimes required things one person was incapable of doing. Yet, somehow mister Holmes was able to do miracles and keeping an eye on almost everything concerning Great Britain. He also was very disciplined. Always neat, calm and punctual. A walking professionalism.

So Anthea expected him to sit at the desk with opened laptop or talking through the phone with prime minister, or doing some other very important thing.

She didn't expect to see a five year old boy, sleeping in her boss' armchair, wearing oversized suit she could swear she saw on mister Holmes last night. The boy had dark, short hair and chubby face. The more Anthea was observing this chubby face, the more she couldn't help the feeling that there's something familiar about it…

Sure, she witnessed weird things in her career, but this seemed downright ridiculous. Where was mister Holmes and who was this kid? And why was he in mister Holmes' clothes?

Anthea decided to look for the answers on her own. First she entered the office, tiptoed to the boy, kneeled before him and gently woke him up. After short moment he opened his light blue eyes which again, seemed oddly familiar to Anthea. He was also very cute so the smile the assistant gave him was a genuine.

She was going to say something friendly, but the boy suddenly noticed the oversized suit he was wearing and that fact clearly confused him. For a next few seconds he was examining long sleeves and even tried to free his hand from three layers of clothing (the suit, the waistcoat and the sweatshirt), before finally giving up. Only then he looked at her with surprise.

"Anthea, what is happening here?" He asked, but then, all of a sudden, he covered his mouth like he just said something inappropriate.

Anthea was taken aback by these words. How this child knew her name?

After short moment of silence he uncovered his mouth and said:

"Oh, this is ridiculous! Does this idiot put helium in here? No, helium doesn't sound like that. Anthea, tell me what's going on. I don't have time for this. I have an important meeting with Lady Smallwood scheduled in four hours."

The woman was astonished. This boy… this boy was talking just like mister Holmes. Suddenly it hit her why he seemed so familiar. Once she was in mister Holmes' parents' house to discuss something, and they showed her a family album. They were focusing mostly on photos from her boss' childhood. It struck her back then how cute and unlike of his adult self was Mycroft Holmes as a little boy. But she guessed that even he had to be a child at some point.

Meanwhile the boy looked around and quickly examined the armchair he was sitting in.

"This is by far the most overblown prank my little brother has ever pulled out on me."

Was it possible that this five year old boy was, in fact, mister Holmes?

"Seriously, does he not know that I have a _country_ to run?"

"Sir?" Anthea asked suddenly. "Is that really you?"

He gave her surprised look, but then he frowned.

"Okay, what did he offer you for playing along?"

"Nothing." She said defensively. "I'm just as astounded as you."

For a moment he was looking at her with no sign of emotion on his face, but knowing him, he was now observing her, checking if she was telling truth or not. As expected of someone so intelligent, he must have already notice she wasn't lying.

"Well then, what shall we think about it? Sherlock put me in oversized suit and bought a bigger replica of my armchair to make me think I shrunk."

"Sir, it seems that you really have shrunk." Anthea began. She pulled the powder-box from her purse and opened it so her employer could see himself in the mirror.

If he was surprised before, now he was shocked. After a moment of silence, he told his assistant to bring the mirror closer and when she did, he was staring at his reflection. Anthea started to get nervous by the stillness, when suddenly mister Holmes pulled the mirror aside and with look of absolute lost, he said:

"This must be a dream."

 _If it is, I must be dreaming it too_ – Anthea wanted to say but she didn't.

"It's the only logical explanation. And quite simple at that."

"So… should I bring you some clothes for you, sir? Something more… in your current size?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, before replying:

"Yes, send someone to the store. However, I would prefer a suit. One have to always care of their appearance. Also" He added as his face became more serious. "don't let anybody inside this office. Even if it is a dream, I don't want people to see me like this."

The agent sent to fulfill the task of buying children cloths came back about two hours later and soon at the desk of Mycroft Holmes was sitting sharp dressed five year old. He was small, but still emanating with power. However, the more Anthea was thinking about this whole mess, the more she felt that it was beyond her comprehension. Was it really mister Holmes? Or maybe it was just some elaborate plan to fool everybody and real Mycroft Holmes was imprisoned somewhere waiting for the rescue? Maybe it would be wise to inform superiors about the situation? She immediately imagined the chaos as British officials tried to deal with a child sitting in mister Holmes place. No, for now she needed someone who could easily tell if the five tear old was really her employer; or where he was at the time.

Anthea considered making a move that her employer would probably never agree on. But, oh well… when there was an odd mystery, you were calling Baker Street boys.

* * *

This dream seemed oddly real. The sensation of wooden desk, leathered chair and his new clothes seemed just like in reality. Mycroft was eating his breakfast – an oatmeal with forest fruits – and it also tasted like in real life. The only thing that was convincing him he was still dreaming, was his current predicament – his body reduced to that of a five year old. He felt so much less safe in it. He didn't suppose he would be able to fight, not to mention carry his duties. There was nothing intimidating about a little boy and Mycroft needed to be intimidating.

Well, soon he will wake up as a grown up and continue his role in keeping Great Britain safe. For now he only hoped that this dream will be a pleasant one.

Suddenly he heard a commotion outside his office.

"I'm sorry, Lady Smallwood." Always dependable Anthea said. "Mister Holmes can't be disturbed at the moment."

Mycroft froze. Oh, no…

"I've had an appointment." Alicia replied. "He was supposed to meet me in his office at 12 am."

"I'm sorry, Lady Smallwood, but there is… an unexpected emergency and mister Holmes isn't available for anyone."

"I am his superior. If there is an emergency preventing him from meeting me, I should be informed about it at least an hour earlier. What exactly happened?"

He trusted his assistant to handle things smoothly. Or else this situation could have been ugly. Mycroft didn't want Alicia Smallwood to see him in this pathetic state. (Hell, maybe this is where his sub-consciousness was going with in this dream – visualizing his fear of being perceived as weak by a woman he deeply respected.)

"Mister Holmes has a flu. I'm sorry, Lady Smallwood, I forgot about your meeting and I didn't inform you."

Good, Anthea. A simple, grounded explanation. Hopefully Alicia will consider it just a small mistake and this statement won't cost the girl her job.

Then again – it was just a dream, so there was no real consequences for his assistant's "mistakes".

"Well then," Lady Smallwood began after short moment of silence and her voice was more soft. "wish mister Holmes good health and tell him to call me, when he will feel better."

Before Anthea could say: "Of course, Lady Smallwood.", another steps could be heard outside. And judging by the sound, there were two people, probably males.

"Ah, mister Holmes, doctor Watson." Alicia greeted them and Mycroft felt an unpleasantly cold sensation in his stomach.

Sherlock and John, great. He only needed _these two_ in moment like this.

"I was just informed that Mycroft has a flu. Did you came with a case, or is doctor Watson here as a medical consultant?"

Please, Sherlock, for the love of everything that's holy, tell her it's the latter. Tell her that John wanted to examine me and you came along.

"Why yes…" The good doctor began but his companion cut in:

"No, brother dearest is not sick."

Of course, Sherlock was just as much of a bastard in Mycroft's dreams as he was in real life.

The rest of the conversation was muffled as Sherlock was explaining something in quiet voice. Mycroft had a bad feeling about it.

* * *

"Considering the fact that it was Anthea that called us here," Sherlock whispered. "something happened to Mycroft and she wanted me to investigate it. Either he wasn't able to call me or Anthea didn't want him to know that she called me. Therefore there are two possibilities: Mycroft is missing or the person in his office is an imposter. So which one is it, huh, Anthea?"

"Well, it's complicated, mister Holmes." Anthea started. "Mister Holmes… I mean… your brother, sir… Well, I guess you would have to see it yourself."

* * *

Mycroft considered his options. Sooner or later, the door will be opened and his secret revealed. He could hide, but the hiding places were limited and all of them too obvious. He could tell Anthea to not let anybody inside under the threat of unemployment, but his voice would probably made Sherlock, John and Alicia even more curious. He could try to distract them, while they were still outside, but Sherlock would have seen through it. He could also escape. He had some escape routes prepared for tight situations.

Before he would make up his mind, the door has been opened, by none other than Sherlock. Once three guests looked inside the office and noticed a five year old sitting at Mycroft's desk, they couldn't hide their astonishment. And Mycroft felt stupid for not reacting fast enough. Now both his superior and his younger brother were seeing him in this form and he couldn't do anything about it.

"Is this… who I think it is?" John was the first to speak.

Without saying a word, Sherlock came closer and leaned over the boy, still observing him intensively. Mycroft gave him cold look, not averting his gaze even for a second as both brothers were staring at each other.

"What's your favorite movie." Sherlock asked him suddenly and Mycroft instantly knew it was a test.

" _Maltese Falcon_." He replied. "But for some absurd reason you always thought it was _Gone with a Wind_."

"Because you quoted it like crazy whenever it was on telly."

"Well, it is a good movie. Not that you could ever appreciate it, brother dear."

A moment of silence and…

"This oatmeal is your second breakfast. You have chocolate in your fingernails."

Mycroft smiled at the change of the subject.

"Mrs. Hudson is mad at you. You wore this shirt two weeks ago and it clearly wasn't washed ever since."

"Okay, that is Mycroft." John said.

"Definitely." Sherlock added and moved away from the desk. "There is only so much you can teach a five year old and this kid acts too much like an adult with keen observation skills. Which brings the question: how is it possible?"

"I assumed that this is just a dream." Mycroft replied.

"Actually it's not." A strange voice suddenly spoke.

All people in the room turned their attention on a desk where a small (about two inches long), child-like creature suddenly materialized. It looked just like a cherub but it wore dark jeans, woolen jacket and a cap.

The creature turned his head to Mycroft and said:

"Hello, mister Holmes. My name is Herbert and I'm a big fan of yours." Then he stood up, cleared his throat and started to walk from one side of the desk to another. "As all of you probably may know, Mycroft Holmes has a lot on his mind. One could only go so far without any support or break, until they go insane, therefore I arranged this little thing."

This dream started to get weirder. Now Mycroft had to deal with a little human telling him that he turned him into a child?

"Wait, who are you and how did you make Mycroft a little boy?" John asked.

"Well," Herbert stopped and quickly unzipped his jacket, revealing his yellow wings. "it so happens that I'm a cherub. Cherubs can do miracles, which, by your human definition, means defying the laws of nature, such as physics, biology or chemistry. I used a miracle to turn Mycroft Holmes into a five year old child."

"This is ridiculous." Sherlock said. "There has to be some kind of logical explanation."

Mycroft agreed. But then again – it was a dream. It didn't have to make sense.

"Why?" This time it was Alicia who asked a question. "Why did you do such a thing?"

Herbert's eyes became fierce as he flew to her abruptly and with a very serious and determined face replied:

"Because Mycroft Holmes deserves a break." He then started to fly around the adults, giving him the same serious expression. "He deserves to be released from his responsibilities once in a while." He stopped in the middle and smiled. "So I figured out that the best way to go with it will be turning him into a carefree child."

"Well, change me back to normal." Mycroft said, turning cherub's attention to himself. "I have Great Britain to protect."

Herbert turned back to him.

"Wrong. You are a child. Therefore Great Britain isn't your responsibility."

"Yes, it is." Mycroft growled.

"No, it isn't." Cherub's voice was soft, sympathetic, as was his smile. "Neither is the safety of your siblings, nor the happiness of your parents. You are a child now, and you're allowed to do childish things."

"But this state isn't permanent, right?" Sherlock asked. "Every break ends at some point. So you will eventually reverse it?"

"I will do it only when three conditions will be met." Herbert said and started to count on his fingers. "One: Sherlock will be a big brother for more than one day. Two: Mycroft's parents will sincerely apologize to him. And three: Mycroft will feel like all of his burdens has been lifted off his shoulders. Then and _only_ then I will turn him back. In the meantime," He smiled to Mycroft. "have fun and remember: you're a child now. You have a right to be childish, mister Holmes."

And, just like that, he disappeared, leaving four adults and one child astounded.


	2. Big or small, I'm still British Govrnmt

**I have a feeling that Lady Smallwood is a bit OOC here. My vision of her relationship with Mycroft is that she likes him and respects him, but nothing more. She also isn't fond of Sherlock, because of this whole affair with Magnussen (which resulted, among other things, with Lord Smallwood's suicide).**

 **Please, leave a comment.**

 **Big or small, I'm still a British Government**

The first one to speak was Lady Smallwood.

"Well, it's obvious that we can't let anybody else know about this. And not only because as a child mister Holmes is an easy target for potential assassins. So the official version is this: Mycroft Holmes is on vacation and contacting him is strictly forbidden."

"This is not necessary." Mycroft replied. "I can respond with texting or in e-mail. And there's simply too many things to take care of."

Everyone turned their gaze from Alicia to him. Lady Smallwood looked at him too and although she knew it was Mycroft, somehow she couldn't see past his current form. This child spoke like a grown up, but it was still a child. He was reminding her of her daughter when she was little. And the more Alicia was looking at him, the more vulnerable he seemed.

She smiled to him.

"As much as I appreciate your devotion, I assure you that we can manage couple of days on our own."

He kneeled on the chair to seem taller.

"Big or small, I'm still a British Government." He said with a cold, determined tone. "And there are things only _I_ can do."

There he was, the Mycroft she knew. The strong-willed Mycroft Holmes that was organizing national security, keeping an eye on threats, knowing everything what was of utmost importance for the United Kingdom. Always doing amazing things for his country.

"Please, leave us alone." Alicia said to the adults around her and then turned to Mycroft. "Mister Holmes and I have something important to discuss."

Grudgingly they started to leave, but Lady Smallwood suddenly thought of something and whispered few things to Anthea. Mycroft's fateful assistant nodded in understanding before going out.

Now there was only Alicia and Mycroft who sat back and observed his guest. She observed him too. As a child he looked so sweet, so… innocent. Which is why she felt sadness when she remembered what he lately went through.

"Please, don't look at me like that." He said suddenly.

"Like what?" She asked.

"Like I'm weak."

For a moment there was a silence as Lady Smallwood considered how to respond. There were many things she wanted to tell him at this moment. Things she wanted him to know.

"Can I seat down?" She said, pointing the armchair behind her with her head.

"Yes, of course." He replied and added with a bit of embarrassment: "I'm sorry."

She sat in the armchair.

"You recall that we were suppose to talk about something important today."

"Why, yes. I do remember that you insisted it's a matter of utmost importance to Great Britain's welfare."

"Yes, it is. Because I wanted to talk about your vacation."

He raised his eyebrow with surprise, before averting his gaze on some papers on his desk and replying:

"I don't need vacation."

"Look, Mycroft," Alicia began. "you've been under a lot of stress lately. The latest events…"

"I assure you that I'm fine." Mycroft harshly cut in. "And no matter what happens, I can do my job."

There was a short moment of silence as Lady Smallwood considered her next response. Suddenly someone knocked to the door and she smiled to herself. Then she stood up and opened it… but only a bit in case if the person outside wasn't the one she was expecting. However these precautions proved to be unnecessary as she saw Anthea outside. Alicia let the assistant in and Mycroft raised his eyebrow at the sight of two bowls of ice-cream – strawberry ones with chocolate syrup and pistachio ones with vanilla.

Lady Smallwood took the bowls from Anthea and said:

"Thank you, I will take it from there."

The girl smiled politely and before she left, she also took the oatmeal her employer was eating earlier. Only when they were alone once again, Alicia came closer to Mycroft and put the pistachio dessert in front of him.

"Ice-cream for the Iceman." She said with another smile.

Mycroft on the other hand leaned his back on the chair, observing the ice-cream, before he turned his gaze back on Alicia. His expression was something between embarrassment and silent aggravation.

"Are you mocking me, Lady Smallwood? Or did my current state activated motherly instincts in you?"

"I just thought that ice-cream would be nice. After all, children like sweet things."

"But you do realize I only have a body of a child? My mind is as adult as it can be."

She sat back in the armchair, deepened the spoon in her bowl and started to eat.

"You know, Mycroft," She began quietly. "I've read your files three times. The first time when you started to work here. I wanted to know who you are."

"That's… understandable. I would probably do the same."

"It was an interesting read. The eldest son of a MI6 agent and a mathematical genius. The highest scores in science and social studies. Not good with making friends. Good with fast decisions, concluding facts, learning new skills. One younger brother, one younger sister… It gave me some perspective on whom I was going to work with. And when I finally met you, you seemed to be just the way I expected you to be." She took a bite of an ice-cream and continued: "But over the years, you've managed to surprise me quite a lot. Like the fact that someone as calculating and as detached as you, was going through insane lengths to protect his younger brother."

"You have to be really annoyed by me abusing my power that way." He smiled wryly.

"Sometimes," She admitted. "but, personally, I treat it as an investment. You get to sleep better, you get to work better." She saddened. "I remember one instance when you learned about Sherlock lying in some den. You dropped everything you were doing and ran right to him. That was the second time when I decided to read your files. I specifically focused on those parts regarding your younger brother. I also took a liberty to read Sherlock's files as well to get a better insight. And after knowing you a little, those parts painted a picture of someone who always had to look after their reckless sibling and save them from their own stupidity… but also someone who had to see them in his lowest."

The silence that fell upon them was somber.

"And the third read?" Mycroft asked suddenly.

"The third read was four weeks ago. When I got to see the footage of what happened in Sherrinford."

The way he looked away for a moment meant he didn't want to think about it. Alicia also wished she didn't see those videos. Not only the governor's suicide reminded her about Lord Smallwood's death; not only the scared voice of little girl on a plane made her imagine that it was her own daughter in danger, but the trials Eurus put her prisoners through were sick. There was no denial – this woman had no conscience and she treated people like objects. It was horrible to watch real persons being part of this insane game. And Lady Smallwood couldn't even _begin_ to imagine how both Holmes brothers and doctor Watson felt back then, in this fortress.

Because of her long familiarity with a man and the potential consequences for the United Kingdom her attention was mostly focused on Mycroft. Mycroft, who couldn't pull the trigger and vomited after witnessing a gruesome death. Mycroft, who tried not to get manipulated by his own sister, but ended up providing some expertise for his brother. Mycroft, who later decided to sacrifice himself for doctor Watson.

They almost lost a valuable member of British Secret Service. And once she read Mycroft's files for the third time, it became a record of a tragedy.

She looked at him right now and continued:

"Don't get me wrong, mister Holmes. You were never weak. In fact, you're one of the strongest people I know. You possess all the qualities needed to occupy your position. But even someone like you isn't invincible, and judging by the fact that recently you're spending your nights here instead of your own house, you're not copying very well."

"Are you suggesting that I have some kind of PTSD?" Mycroft gave her another wry smile.

"I'm suggesting that you hate silence of your own house. You don't feel safe there anymore. But not only that, you also seem to be more tense. I don't know if it's PTSD, but you're obviously not right. Therefore I spoke with the council and arranged substitutes in time of your recovery absence."

He seemed astonished by the news, like he was at least fired. He probably thought that he has been put aside and soon would be forced to retire. Alicia sent him reassured smile and added:

"Don't worry. Nobody can do what you can do. Soon you will be asked to come back."

She stopped smiling and saddened. She really hoped that this state he was in, would be eventually fixed.

"And since this Herbert person said he will turn you back to normal when you feel like all of your burdens has been lifted, vacation is very much recommended." She concluded.

She didn't know if Herbert was speaking the truth and intended to do as he said, once his conditions would be met, but her intuition was telling her that the cherub wished Mycroft well. And besides – there was one thing he and Lady Smallwood completely agreed on: Mycroft Holmes needed a break. Badly.

"Big or small, I'm still the British Government." Mycroft repeated his previous statement, but this time there was no stubbornness. There was only sadness.

"No, you are a child." Alicia replied.

"I'm an adult in child's body. That's difference. Besides," He added. "I simply can't go on a vacation. I will be constantly thinking about various dangers threatening Great Britain."

"You're a child." Lady Smallwood insisted. "The security of United Kingdom isn't your responsibility."

Mycroft gave a sign of resignation.

"Fine, but only because I want to go back to normal as soon as possible. Can I at least keep the texting communication? In case of emergencies?"

She hesitated. It would be unwise to forbid the contact completely. It was true that there were things only he could do. Besides, he had a point: the unknown could be stressful too. Especially for someone who knew inner workings of politics. There should be at least one way out, in case something in the world would go wrong. And when she was speaking with the council, they, too, wanted to preserve communication in case of emergencies (even though she herself preferred Mycroft to not be interrupted). It was only because of this bizarre situation when Mycroft's appearance and voice could prove troublesome that she insisted earlier on no contact order.

"Our employees will get an order to call you only if it will be absolutely necessary." Alicia finally decided. She was silent for a moment as she finished her ice-cream and looked at her host. Mycroft was still not touching his bowl. She decided to speak: "Did I guessed your favorite flavor wrong?"

Surprised by this sudden change of a subject, he gazed at the ice-cream and observed it for the moment, before smiling politely to his guest.

"I just don't feel like eating it. I've just had a breakfast."

"Well then, I will instruct Anthea to put it into a fridge. Now," She stood up. "I will officially inform the council that you're on vacation and Sherlock will get you on Baker Street."

He seemed like he was going to object, but decided to not and just sighed. Then he got serious and asked:

"How many days off you will give me? We don't know how long this situation will take."

"Even before this whole mess, I've arranged two weeks. I know it's not enough after what you've been through in Sherrinford, but the council couldn't agree on more."

"Two weeks with Sherlock… I hope this dream will be over soon. So far it's plain annoying." He said.

Lady Smallwood grinned and left the room. When she met Sherlock, doctor Watson and Anthea in the corridor, she told them about agreement she reached with Mycroft, and then she sent a mail to the council. Soon Mycroft could go on a well-deserved vacation. The official version of why he couldn't be seen was that he was currently at home (thank goodness, Anthea was the only one who knew about his all-nighter). The official version of who the mysterious little boy could be: son of one of Sherlock and Mycroft's far relatives, Mike (they both thought that it was too obvious, but Lady Smallwood said it would make it easier to keep pretences in front of strangers).

Since Sherlock and Watson have been noticed entering the facility, they came out normally and were joined by Mycroft and Anthea (who left through a secret passage in his office) on the back alley outside. Lady Smallwood was there too to see them before they would leave.

"You know," She started, turning to Sherlock. "you're in charge of one of the most important people in Great Britain. Which means that you're responsible for his safety."

"I'm aware of that." Sherlock said. "And the irony of it."

Yes, it _was_ ironic. This time it was the younger brother who will have to take care of and protect the elder. This time _he_ would have to think about Mycroft's wellbeing. Herbert intended it that way, so the first of his condition could be easier to accomplish. But Lady Smallwood couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness. Sherlock Holmes was, after all, an irresponsible, immature drug addict. No one in their right mind would give him custody over a child.

And yet here there were.

Alicia gave the detective a cold look and said:

"Do you understand what your priorities should be now, mister Holmes? Right now there's nothing more important than that mission. So, please," She neared her face to his. "for once in your life try to be a good brother."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He was just observing her with tense expression.

"We will do our best." Doctor Watson, who was standing next to his companion, replied for him.

"Can we, _please_ , finally go now?" A very irritated Mycroft spoke, turning everyone's gaze at himself.

"Yeah, we probably should go." Sherlock agreed.

Alicia observed as all four of them left the alley and went straight to the taxi Anthea had called earlier. Lady Smallwood was glad that Baker Street has been on such a high protection level (Mycroft's big brother instinct turned out to be useful). Nevertheless she was going to tell that mister Holmes specifically requested to keep an eye on his five year old nephew, Mike.


	3. The Cutest Reptile

**This one is more light-hearted, but still has an angsty bit.**

 **Tell me, what would you like to see in next chapter.**

 **The Cutest Reptile**

A bit before driving away…

"No, I am _not_ sitting on this." Mycroft protested as he noticed the car seat in the cab (probably Anthea requested one while calling the taxi).

"You have to." Sherlock replied. "There are regulations regarding children in car. You don't want to attract unwanted attention, do you?"

His older brother gave him offended look. For a moment they were just staring at each other with tension, before Mycroft sighed and grudgingly took the car seat. It was obvious he considered it a humiliation. The fact that Sherlock seemed almost too pleased to help him with a seat belt, only made it worse.

Back in the corridor they decided to hit the mall first. Obviously, the suit Mycroft was in wasn't enough, they needed clothes for at least seven days. They also had to buy him better shoes (the ones purchased by the agent turned out to not exactly fit), pajamas and a toothbrush. Thank goodness, they didn't have to worry about the outwear, because agent from earlier bought his employer a jacket.

John Watson observed his co-passengers. All four of them were silent. Sherlock was occupied by his own thoughts, Anthea was doing something on her phone (probably something her boss requested earlier), while Mycroft… Mycroft was sitting in the car seat, looking visibly pissed with his arms crossed. John focused on him for a moment, wondering what was on his mind.

No matter how you looked at it, this situation was bizarre. One of the most powerful people in the United Kingdom was now a child and the only way to turn him back was performing three odd deeds. And as much as John could understand the logic behind Sherlock being a good brother or Mycroft's burden being lift off of him, he didn't know what exactly Mr. and Mrs. Holmes had to apologize for to his eldest son. Sure, they didn't notice disturbing facts about their daughter and reacted too late, but if that was the case, then they should apologize to Sherlock and Victor Trevor's parents, not to Mycroft. Why they've had to apologize to Mycroft, of all people? What they did to him that an angelic being wanted them to be remorseful?

Then again, this family was weird. And lately John learnt some really messed up secrets about them. He still couldn't quite comprehend how a little girl could do all those horrible things, hell, he still had hard time getting used to the normality after psychological and emotional torture he, Sherlock and Mycroft had been put through. John had experience with psychopaths targeting him to get through Sherlock, but Eurus was a completely different wild ride. Some of him really wanted her to stay catatonic for the rest of her life, while the other, more human part hoped – against all reason – that there was some way to make her recover and become a better person. After all, Sherlock became more mindful of others' feelings… And Mycroft also wasn't such a coldblooded bastard as he let people to believe.

 _Ignore everything he just said. He's trying to make it easy for me to kill him._

"Doctor Watson, if you would be so kind and stop staring at me, I would be very much obliged." Mycroft's polite, yet somehow harsh voice got John back to present. The physician reacting by averting his gaze.

They've finally got to the mall. Once they left the car and were preparing to enter the building, Sherlock extended his hand to Mycroft, who raised eyebrow.

"Oh, this is just ridiculous."

"I don't want to lose you in the mall." Was Sherlock's reply. "That would be such a cliché, don't you think, brother dear?" He added, giving him a smug smile.

"I assure you that I can easily follow you. No need to be condescending."

"Who says I'm condescending?"

"Me. And I have witnesses." Mycroft said and pointed both John and Anthea.

 _Well_ – the doctor thought – _he really took the part about being childish to heart. Then again, he's used to being in charge._

"Mycroft," John crouched in front of him to be on his eye level. "you're our responsibility right now, so we want to assure your safety. Think of us as your bodyguards."

"Okay then…" Mycroft crossed his arms and started to give them instructions on which positions they should take and what distance they should keep. Of course, Anthea was supposed to be the closest to him, since she was his assistant, but John and Sherlock had to be few feet away. He also regretted he didn't have more men, but oh, well, he had to use all the resources he had. Mycroft was all methodical and sounded like he really knew what he was talking about. These had to be standard procedures regarding personal security of high officials.

"Yeah, we're not doing that." Sherlock said flatly. "You're not the queen of England." And then he extended his hand again. "Come on, take it. We don't have a whole day."

Mycroft sighed with resignation and gave up. Without further ado they entered the mall and directed straight to the clothes stores. They've spent there almost two hours, but emerged victorious. Seven t-shirts, seven socks and panties, two sweaters, two pairs of jeans, sneakers and slippers… They've had it all.

"Psst, Mycroft." John whispered to him. When the boy turned in his direction, the doctor showed him a shirt with big portrait of Elsa from _Frozen_. He added jokingly: "Maybe you would like this?"

Mycroft wasn't amused.

"No, thank you. I'm not interested in cartoons. Besides, this is clearly a shirt for a little girl."

"Too bad." John said. "I think Elsa would suit you."

"Don't be ridiculous, John." Sherlock cut in.

"See, even Sherlock thinks it's stupid." The boy spoke.

"We both know that he's more like a Squidward from _SpongeBob_." Apparently he spoke too soon.

Mycroft didn't say anything. He just rolled his eyes with annoyance. And John suspected that he didn't know what _SpongeBob SquarePants_ is, but he assumed Sherlock's comment wasn't anything very flattering.

While they were looking for pajamas, Mycroft found one he really liked. It was a plain, navy blue and had no decorations, and that was probably its appeal.

After the clothes hunt and the purchase of fairly decent toothbruch, they were more than happy to go on a Baker Street. Mycroft told Anthea she's free for the rest of a day, so they drove her when she wished to be left off, before they would return to Sherlock Holmes' current location. John knew he would have to go back to Rosie soon (Molly had her own life too), but he decided to at least check how Mrs. Hudson would react on a new guest.

Her reaction was something he fully expected.

"Oh, Sherlock," She said, kneeling in front of Mycroft. "who's this handsome young man?"

"This is my nephew, Mike." The detective explained. "He will stay with as for about two weeks."

"Hello, Mike." She cooed and extended her hand towards Mycroft. "I'm Mrs. Hudson."

Mycroft shook her hand, but there was something stiff in his movements. The old lady stood up and looked at Sherlock with expression of annoyance. Before Mrs. Hudson led Mycroft to the living room, she quickly ran there and hid the skull. Only then she settled little boy on the couch and took both Sherlock and John to the kitchen.

" _Now_ , you're telling me we are having a guest?" She asked.

"It… came out at last minute." John replied nervously. "We weren't prepared either."

Sherlock told her a story about a relative who was supposed to take care of "Mike", but something turned out and Sherlock was asked to do it instead. Also, apparently "Mike" lost his baggage on the train station, so they had to go to the mall and buy him clothes.

Mrs. Hudson seemed to buy this story. She even felt sorry for little boy.

"Poor child…" Suddenly her expression became fierce, as she asked: "Tell me, Sherlock, did this relative who was supposed to take care of Mike happens to be Mycroft?"

"No, it was uncle Herbert." Sherlock's reply was short and he wasn't planning to elaborate.

"Well, I guess we have to try to make his stay here as pleasant as possible." Mrs. Hudson said.

They quickly discussed where to accommodate him and decided that – since John had his own home – "Mike" will take doctor's former bedroom. Next all three of them entered the living room to talk with their guest.

Mycroft was sitting on the couch and observing everything around him. John wondered if he felt odd, seeing this room as far bigger than when he was here last time. In fact whole world had to seem bigger to him…

"Mike, you must be hungry after such a long journey." Mrs. Hudson said, smiling to Mycroft. "I will make a dinner soon, so be patient. In the meantime, maybe uncle Sherlock will show you your room?"

Mycroft only nodded. And was it just John, or did the boy seem a bit nervous by all the sudden affection the landlady was giving him? Either way, Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson took the bags with clothes and directed Mycroft to his newest chambers. Doctor Watson, on the other hand, said: "Later!" and left the building to look after his own baby.

* * *

Mycroft was tired. During the dinner Mrs. Hudson was asking him about various things – about his parents, about his siblings, about where he was living and how he liked London – and frankly he didn't like those questions one a bit. He wanted to be left alone, maybe take a nap. But he had to say something, so he was giving her short answers (mummy is a teacher, daddy is policeman; he's the only child; he's living in Liverpool; London is too crowded for his taste). He tried to sound as child-like as possible, which was hard, because he was used to talk with certain fineness, showing his interlocutors that they were dealing with someone more intelligent than them.

What was quite unnerving was that Sherlock's landlady was staring at him with this wide smile of hers and talking to him with this sweet voice. Even later, when they were sitting in the living room and watching TV, she kept asking him if he wanted cookies, or if he wanted to play something, or if he was sleepy… gah! And although cookies were delicious, he just wanted some peace and quiet, for goodness' sake! After some time he wanted to be as far away from Mrs. Hudson as possible.

Sherlock was, for the most part, sitting in the armchair and staring at the wall. Around seven pm, he took the violin and began to play. Mycroft knew his brother was trying to think through the situation at hand. Probably find a logical reason why his older brother was a five year old and how to turn him back to normal; or find a way to make their parents apologize.

Occasionally Mycroft was thinking about their parents too. He wasn't sure if Mummy or Daddy could be persuaded to apologize. And what exactly they had to apologize for? Mycroft had some suspicions and he knew perfectly that Sherlock had them too, but it was a complicated issue and Mycroft firmly believed they were in the right to act the way they acted that fateful day.

Or maybe not? Maybe Herbert wanted them to apologize for something else. After all Mycroft had a whole file on Mummy. There were things he was thinking many times about. Little memories about Mummy and Daddy not knowing what to do with him and being disappointed at him. And it was always painful.

Either way, Sherlock wasn't paying any attention to his brother and it kind of annoyed Mycroft that he had to spend time with Mrs. Hudson. She was quietly berating younger Holmes brother about neglecting his guest too, but he kept saying he wasn't good with kids.

Nevertheless, when it was time to sleep, he suddenly decided to help "Mike" bath, put pajamas on and wash his teeth. At least that was what he said to Mrs. Hudson. In reality, Mycroft did all of this on his own, while Sherlock was sitting on the toilet, averting his eyes. Both brothers felt awkward about it, but Mycroft was actually grateful. The alternative would be Mrs. Hudson washing him and that would be far more embarrassing. That way he at least preserved some dignity.

"I hope Mrs. Hudson won't draw a conclusion that I like being in the same room as bathing child." Sherlock whispered. "I don't want to be labeled as creepy uncle."

"For now, you're just a neglecting one." Mycroft replied, washing his arm. "Did you at least figured something out?"

"Wait 'til I tackle you to sleep." Was all the detective said.

Mycroft sighed but he decided to be patient. And soon, when he was washed and in his newest pajamas, Sherlock led him to his temporary bedroom and the boy jumped right in. Finally he will get some sleep. He was exhausted. (Some part of him also hoped that when he go to sleep this weird dream will come back to an end…) And to Mycroft's surprise, Sherlock did tackle him to sleep. For a moment he was just sitting on "Mike's" bed and observing his brother in silence.

"I think we should fake your death." He finally said in hushed voice.

"What?" Mycroft whispered too, sitting up.

"No, no, listen." Sherlock neared his face to him. "The thing about death of a loved one is that you start to think about all the things you've never told them. So my plan is this: I will tell Mummy and Daddy that you've died and they will eventually say under your fake grave that they are sorry."

Mycroft slapped the back of his brother's head and gave him stern look.

"Are you insane, Sherlock?" He asked, still keeping the volume low. "You want to do this to them? After four weeks since they've learnt about their daughter being alive? They will hate us both."

"So what else do you propose? You want to show yourself to them?"

Mycroft dropped his gaze. Yeah, showing himself to their parents, when he had body of a child would be troublesome. Especially convincing them that this five year old boy was their son seemed insane, but Mycroft thought about it earlier. He already had a plan in case if he had to face them.

Suddenly he felt someone's hands on his shoulder. When he looked up he saw Sherlock smiling to him reassuringly.

"I will turn you back to normal, I promise."

Then he did something even more unexpected. He kissed Mycroft's forehead. The boy blinked with surprise before he looked at his brother. Sherlock was still smiling to him, but his smile weakened, as he slowly put him into lying position and tapped his cover lightly.

"Sweet dreams, brother mine." He said standing up. At the door he gave Mycroft's one last glance, before he left.

* * *

 _He was a grown up. And still in this cell. Like he never even left the Sherrinford and Eurus was never stopped._

 _The lights turned red and he saw the governor (David, his name was David) staring at him with empty eyes. A moment later Mycroft realized that David had a gun, but he wasn't aiming it at the other man. He was just standing there._

" _You could have save her." He said suddenly. "My wife could be alive."_

 _His eyes changed to more fierce. All of a sudden there were another four victims in the room, gagged, but not tied. And they started to walk towards Mycroft._

" _It is your fault we're dead." The governor said._

" _You didn't want to pull the trigger." His wife said clearly, in spite of the tape on her mouth._

" _You brought her here." Garrideb brothers added._

" _And you let Moriarty in." The governor concluded._

 _The screen on his right turned on and Eurus smiled smugly._

" _Looks like you have blood on your hands after all, big brother." She said._

 _David aimed his gun at Mycroft and suddenly it was Sherlock who was standing there instead of the governor._

" _Goodbye, brother mine." He said and fired._

 _Mycroft could see how the bullet was coming towards him in slow motion. And, all of a sudden, he felt it piercing through his chest and getting right through his heart._

* * *

Mycroft woke up, cold sweat running down his temple. A moment later he realized that he was on Baker Street. And he was five years old. The memories of the previous day was coming back to him, as he tried to catch a breath. To be fair he preferred this dream (and he was convinced more a and more it was no dream) over the one he just had. This one at least had people who wished him well.

Anyway, this nightmare right there… he was dreaming it sometimes during those four weeks. He was dreaming of still being on Sherrinford. He was dreaming of all the people that died there. And he dreamed of Eurus, as insane and as cruel as ever, mocking him, taunting him, reminding him that it was, first and foremost, his fault.

Mycroft lied in the bed. After nightmare like this he could say goodbye to a goodnight sleep, because now he will be constantly thinking about that fateful day in Sherrinford. Normally he would focus on his work, but now, in this form and in this place, it was impossible. He needed to find a different distraction. For sure there was something in Sherlock's house to occupy his mind.

He got up and directed towards the living room. But before he could even enter the room, he heard a whisper:

"Mike, what are you doing here at this hour?"

He turned back and saw Mrs. Hudson in the hall. Perfect. He only needed _her_ here…

"I couldn't sleep." He replied.

"Oh, poor thing. Come with me." She extended her hand to him. When he didn't take it, she said: "Come on, don't be shy. I will make you a cocoa."

Well, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea. He hadn't tasted cocoa in years.

And so Mycroft let himself by led by elderly lady to the kitchen. She settled him on the chair and started to prepare the beverage. For a couple of minutes they were both silent and Mycroft was observing Mrs. Hudson.

They never liked each other. He always knew that she didn't keep him in highest regard. Sure, he was Sherlock's brother… but she was never missing the opportunity to show Mycroft when he was doing something she considered rude. He understood why Sherlock liked her. She had this motherly streak that many men longed in their lives… and she didn't let anybody take her for granted. There was no denying that she was a woman of steel.

But as much as he understood it and as much as he was used to being treated with cold demeanor, her animosity was often bothering him. For once he would like Sherlock's friends to not see him as some kind of a rude monster.

"There." Mrs. Hudson put a freshly made cocoa in front of him. "But wait for couple of minutes. It's hot."

He looked at her. At the way she was smiling at him. At the way she sat next to him and raffled his hair. And he remembered how not so long time ago she told him to make his own tea; and earlier called him a reptile. It was quite peculiar how his appearance changed her attitude towards him. He wondered if she would treat him the same way, if he revealed his true identity. If she knew that the sweet child in front of her was, in fact, that reptile, Mycroft Holmes.

Probably due to him being so quiet for so long, she saddened and asked:

"Are you okay, Mike?"

"Mrs. Hudson," He began resting his hand on the cup of cocoa. "you don't like uncle Mycroft, do you?"

"Well…" The landlady avoided his look, probably taken aback but this sudden change of a subject. But after a moment she gazed again at her young interlocutor and replied: "Yes, I don't like him. But he don't like me, either." She grinned.

He put the cocoa aside and said:

"He would want you to know that he tries really hard to keep uncle Sherlock from trouble."

Another sympathetic smile on Mrs. Hudson's face.

"That I've never doubted. And to be fair, uncle Sherlock isn't the easiest man to live with."

"But you're always rude to uncle Mycroft."

"Is this what he says to you?" She looked almost offended.

 _No, this is what I know from experience_ – he wanted to say. But suddenly her expression changed back to more compassionate one as she asked:

"You're close with uncle Mycroft?"

"Let's just say we have a lot in common." He decided to went with that.

"You know," Mrs. Hudson started. "there was this time when uncle Sherlock came back here from a long journey, and he and uncle Mycroft spent whole afternoon playing games, joking and bickering. I was occasionally checking on them, but mostly trying to not disturb them. Because you see, Mike, they are fighting most of the time, so watching them having fun together, was melting my heart."

Mycroft couldn't help but smile at that statement. He knew perfectly what "journey" Mrs. Hudson was talking about. He remembered this afternoon when Sherlock was finally back in Baker Street. He remembered how they were playing Operation and then Sherlock got him into the deduction game. He also remembered the moment when Mrs. Hudson entered the living room, all happy to see Sherlock safe and sound.

" _He's secretly pleased to see you under all of that_. _"_

" _Sorry, which one of us?"_

" _Both of you."_

"I don't like your uncle Mycroft," Mrs. Hudson concluded. "but I do wish him well."

Mycroft was happy to hear that, however, something came to his mind.

"Can you be more nicer to him, when you meet again?"

"Only if he will try to be more nice too." Was Mrs. Hudson's response.

"I will tell him." The boy replied with a light smile.

"Ekhm…" Suddenly Sherlock appeared in the door frame. He gave Mycroft a stern look and then his eyes rolled on Mrs. Hudson. "What are you two doing here at this time of night?"

Mycroft suspected that his little brother was standing behind the wall and listening to his conversation with Mrs. Hudson for quite some time. He probably was curious about how it will end, that's why he intervened only now.

Due to Mrs. Hudson's insistence, Sherlock let Mycroft finish the cocoa. They've spent next half an hour sitting in the kitchen and talking, and only when Mycroft was done with the hot chocolate, Sherlock, Mycroft's initial protests, put his brother up and carried him back to his bed. The boy felt a little bit better, to be honest. The warm sensation in his belly after a sweet beverage made him sleepy and Mycroft couldn't help but feel safe in someone's arms. Once when he was put back to his bed, he fell asleep. And this time he had no nightmares.


	4. Child's play

**People were proposing brotherly fluff. Someone on tumblr suggested park and I instantly got an idea for how this chapter should look like. I also started to think about certain line in The Final Problem and what that line meant regarding Mycroft's childhood.**

 **As always, please, review. Especially because the latest review (by Anonymous, unfortunately) made me very happy. I especially love this part: _"You made Mycroft a little child. Please make him discover the childhood again. I don't think he remembers how fun it is."_**

 **Child's play**

The next day Mrs. Hudson went out shopping early in the morning. Sherlock came closer to Mycroft's bedroom and opened the door a bit to look inside. His brother was sleeping like a log. He looked like any other child sleeping – small, innocent, peaceful, unbothered by the world of adults. Some would even say that Mycroft was cute. Sherlock was observing him for couple more seconds, enchanted by this view, before he finally decided to close the door and sit in the living room.

Seven years was a huge difference. In his mind Mycroft was always bigger, taller, _older_ … Yes, the younger Holmes brother was aware that the elder one had to be an infant at some point, but imagining him at that age was a pure abstraction. Because Mycroft always seemed to be an adult.

 _Mycroft was quite clever. He could understand things if you went a bit slow…_

After Sherrinford, Sherlock started to remember bits and pieces of childhood before the death of Victor. Some of those memories were happy, but some of them were more sad. Small gestures, small events he couldn't fully comprehend as a child, but now, with proper perspective of things, were painting a very dark picture. And the more Sherlock was thinking about it the more he understood the sad situation his brother has been put in. And the more angry he was.

" _He did his best."_

" _Then he's very limited!"_

In his mind he was scolding his parents; saying things he should have said back then, when they learned about Eurus being alive; and when they berated Mycroft for lying. Earlier both brothers agreed that they should keep all the horrible things their sister did to themselves. There was no need to upset Mummy and Daddy even further. They only had to know that their daughter was alive, she wasn't getting better and she broke away, but eventually was stopped.

In his mind, Sherlock was telling them that before Eurus went catatonic, she tried to force one of her brothers to shoot the other. He was imagining their faces when they would learn the truth and realize that they've almost lost a son.

But in his mind, an adult Mycroft – the epitome of cold logic, the one that was always keeping Sherlock on the right track – was defending their parents. After all, they were just humans and had right to their emotional reactions, giving the circumstances. They were lost. They were angry. They loved their daughter, no matter who she turned out to be. Even if they were talking nonsense, they were entitled to their wrath. The Mycroft in Sherlock's mind was reminding him about the bigger picture.

And it wasn't that Sherlock didn't want Eurus to be part of their family once again.

 _Do you understand what your priorities should be now, mister Holmes? Right now there's nothing more important than that mission. So, please, for once in your life try to be a good brother._

Sherlock gazed at the Mycroft's bedroom from his place. He had no idea what big brother should do. Of course, one would say that good brother should always take care of their sibling, but somehow Sherlock was lost at the specifics. He tried to remember what Mycroft was doing most of the time, but Mycroft was a different kind of man than most people. The kind of man that was putting his baby brother under surveillance, ordering said brother to make a list of drugs he took, and going undercover to get him out of Serbian captivity. There was no denying here – Mycroft was a remarkable big brother.

And, frankly, Sherlock didn't know where to start. His care for Mycroft's wellbeing was limited to asking some people to keep an eye on him; and to telling him that he should socialize more.

"Just be there for him." A quiet voice interrupted his train of thought. Sherlock looked at the armchair in front of him and saw Herbert, who added with a friendly smile: "Start with small things and the bigger ones will come in their right time."

Then the cherub looked around and his smile changed to more of an enthusiastic one.

"Wow, so this is Baker Street?" He started to fly around, giving everything in the living room a closer look. His expression was that of a very exited puppy. "This is so awesome."

"You've come here to fanboy, or do your visit here actually have a purpose?" Sherlock asked, observing his otherworldly guest.

"Oh, right! Sorry." Herbert landed back on the armchair and grinned sheepishly. "I just wanted to check on you."

Sherlock scanned him, just like he was always doing, whenever he was meeting someone.

"Oh, oh, do the deduction thing. Please, please, please." Herbert said, clapping his hands in excitement.

"Shhh." Sherlock hissed. "Mycroft is still sleeping."

"Sorry." The cherub repeated, sinking in the armchair, but soon regained his composure.

"I thought you were supposed to be Mycroft's fan."

"Who says I can't like both Holmes brothers? It's true that Mycroft is infinitely more awesome, but you're great too. And, of course, the ideal would be if both of you could deduct something about me, but I don't want to bother Mycroft with my annoyance. He needs as much of rest as possible."

Sherlock looked at him again and his mind quickly made few conclusions about cherub.

"Before you came here, you were in a church. By the fact that you have a picture of Saint Mary of Guadalupe, I assume that the church you've been in, is in Catholic parish. Your pants are dirty, so you tripped somewhere on the half thawed snow, but you didn't bother to wipe it out, so you were in hurry. There are stains on your left sleeve. Here's what I think: after a short time in church, you were running after a fast food cart and the owner was going to move to another location, so you were chasing after him and asking to stop. That's how you tripped and got yourself into a snowy puddle. Nevertheless you got up and ordered a chili hot dog with mustard and Danish sauce." Sherlock concluded his deduction with a smile.

"So cool…" Herbert whispered in amazement.

After moment of silence he straightened himself and his expression became more serious.

"I think you should tell them."

"Tell who what?" Sherlock asked.

"Your parents. About the Sherrinford."

Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

" _The truth will set you free._ " The cherub quoted. "Some truths should be revealed for the sake of justice. You, as a detective, know it very well."

Sherlock didn't say anything. He was just staring at Herbert, who jumped down and came closer to him.

"If I may suggest something," He began with a light smile. "take him to the park."

And – just like that – he disappeared. But before Sherlock could do something about it, he heard a crack of bedroom's door. It was Mycroft, who came out, rubbing his sleepy eyes.

* * *

"This is stupid." Mycroft commented, as they were walking in the park.

There weren't much people at this time of a day, which both Holmes brothers were very grateful for.

"You're supposed to do childish things, remember?"

"I'm _allowed_ to do childish things. That doesn't mean I have to play on a slide. What if I meet other children? I hated playing with other children." Mycroft made a disgusted face.

"It's Wednesday. Most children are in kindergarten or in school."

"Which leaves us with the toddlers and they are even worse."

Not so long time ago Sherlock would probably share his brother's sentiment, but then John and Mary got a baby girl and that changed everything. Sherlock really liked Rosie, at first because she was the Watsons' kid, but after some time he just got fond of her company. He finally understood why so many people were so head over heels in love with babies.

And right now, when he was thinking about it, an odd notion crossed his mind: Mycroft was seven when he stopped being an only child. One year later he became a big brother once again. He was witnessing Mummy's growing belly, waiting for his siblings to go out. He probably saw Sherlock and Eurus in hospital and was observing their progress from infants to toddlers. He had to learn to share parents' love with them. He had to get used to the fact that his brother and sister had their needs and their needs were a little more important than his. He also had to be told by Mummy and Daddy that from now on he would have to take care of his younger siblings too.

Maybe Mycroft always perceived Sherlock as a little boy. Because he saw him growing up.

They finally got to the playground. It had all the right parts – swing set, sandbox, roundabout, simian grove, a slide as a part of a pirate ship with ladders… And it looked like they had all of this to themselves. There was nobody else in this place.

"So," Sherlock began. "which one would you like to try first?"

"None of it. I want to go home." Mycroft replied, giving him annoyed look.

"Oh, come on! At least give swings a shot!"

And so Sherlock started to lead his brother to the swing set. Mycroft, of course, tried to resist, but it was to no avail. He kept struggling in Sherlock's arms as the man put him down and attempted to settle in the seat.

"Leave me alone, Sherlock! I'm not going to pretend that I'm a child!"

"Okay, okay." His brother put him down and instantly kneeled in front of him. "How about that: you will play on a swing set a bit and then I will buy you a cheesecake?"

For a moment Mycroft wasn't saying anything. He was just observing Sherlock with arms crossed.

"Make it a chocolate cake and we have a deal."

"Perfect!" Sherlock beamed with enthusiasm.

Mycroft obediently let himself being put in the seat and then Sherlock started to swing him, for now slowly, carefully. For couple of minutes the only things disturbing the silence were the sound of swing set's grind and the wind. Mycroft seemed to be drowned in his own thoughts… which Sherlock understood. The dangling movements of the swing were intuitive enough to make somebody occupy their mind on other things.

Suddenly Sherlock decided to use more force and the swing started to get higher. At first Mycroft was surprised by it, but he didn't protest. After couple of seconds the boy's lips formed into a light smile which then became wider and wider.

"Move aside." He said to his brother.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. Then Mycroft started to swing on his own, dangling his legs up and down.

Swings had also this odd opportunity to give a sensation of freedom. A bit closer to the sky, sensing the wind on the skin, a person could feel like they were almost flying. Even adults liked to play on the swing set from time to time. Of all the things on the playground, swing set was the one that was making people carefree the most.

And Mycroft seemed to get enchanted too. Soon the playground has been filled with his laughter, as he was swinging back and forth. Sherlock actually sat on the nearest bench to observe as his usually stiff brother was acting like an actual child. In this moment he wasn't the British Government incarnate; he wasn't the Iceman, he wasn't the man, who had to have an eye on his junkie brother and manipulating sister. He was just a child, enjoying himself on the swing set, free from burdens of this world.

Sherlock observed it, mesmerized. This was innocence in its purest form. The boy on the swing set had a future ahead of him – he was going to learn new things, realize his passions, find his love, maybe even become someone great. He was going to make his parents proud… but for now, he was just playing; for now he was allowed to do childish things.

Suddenly Mycroft put his feet on the seat and stood up. Then he started to swing in a standing position by bending lightly his knees.

Sherlock's blood got cold. His heart was pounding like crazy as he was imagining multitude horrible scenarios. He quickly ran to the swing set and stopped it with one strong hold. Next he stood in front of Mycroft, who's face changed from carefree to sad… before it became angry.

"Why did you do that? I was just getting started."

In one, swift moment the fun was over.

"That was very risky, Mycroft." Sherlock said, giving the boy stern look. "You could have fall down and get hurt."

"I knew what I was doing, Sherlock! Lots of kids are swinging in standing position. It helps to get you higher fast."

Fear, worry and anger were spinning in Sherlock, turning into a cocktail of unwanted emotions.

"One wrong move and you would have lost balance! You want to break your skull?! You want to end in coma?! How can you be so reckless?!"

"Look, who's talking!" Mycroft screamed at him. And that was when Sherlock noticed tears in corners of his eyes. "You keep getting yourself in danger almost all the time!"

Sherlock was taken aback by this sudden outburst. He didn't know how to react.

"You don't care if your reckless stunts worry anybody!" Mycroft went on, nearing his angry, teary face to his brother's. "Not if it's doctor Watson, or Molly, or Mrs. Hudson! And certainly not if it's me! Do you have _any_ idea how many times I was scared out of my mind that my little brother will get himself killed?! Do you?! No you don't! Because you don't care!"

The more Sherlock was listening to this tirade, the more he was realizing that this horrible feeling he just felt – this awful cocktail of fear, worry and anger – was something Mycroft had to feel very often. And in his case, it had to be a lot worse. In fact, when Sherlock was gazing into his brother's angry eyes, he remembered all those times when Mycroft was finding him in drug dens and asking if he made the list; that time when Irene Adler threatened him to reveal that Sherlock was the leak; that time when he ran away from hospital with a gun wound… And that was only the beginning!

" _What are you doing here?"_

" _As ever, I'm concerned about you…"_

Did Mycroft involuntarily gave him a taste of his own medicine?

"I'm sorry for stopping you." Sherlock whispered, surprising the boy in front of him. "Please, don't cry."

Mycroft quickly wiped his eyes with a sleeve and both brothers continued to stare at each other.

"Do you want to check other things?"

"No, I'm tired." The kid certainly sounded tired. "I want to go home."

Sherlock only nodded and put him on the ground. Then he extended his hand towards Mycroft, who took it without protest, and they got on the path to the main gate.

"By the way," Mycroft suddenly started. "you do owe me a chocolate cake. So we better stop at some café to buy it."

Sherlock smiled.

"So you're too tired for physical activity, but not tired enough to go to café, brother dear?"

"Don't you know that the best way to make child not cry is to shamelessly spoil them with treats?"

"Then you should cry more. Maybe you will get a car."

They found a nice little place to buy pastry and sit in warmth. While Mycroft was eating chocolate cake, Sherlock was wondering if he should bring some goods on Baker Street. He was already planning events for the next day. Maybe they will just stay inside and watch a movie. Some nice, family movie people kept recommending him for being "good for both children and adults". After all, normal persons were going on movies with their siblings…

He thought about the swing again. For a moment Mycroft seemed like he was really free from his burden. So maybe couple of sessions in the playground will be enough to fulfill the third condition…

No, not at all. If they wanted Mycroft to be free from his worries, they were going to try harder.

* * *

In a middle of the night a scream woke him up. Sherlock jumped out of his bed and quickly ran into Mycroft's room. His brother was sitting in the dark, breathing heavily. He gazed at Sherlock with the look of a total despair in his eyes. The detective turn the light on and sat in front of the boy. He looked so afraid, so helpless… Like he forgot about his former, adult self, and became a scared child once again. Whatever his nightmare was about, it had to be horrible.

Sherlock could ask about it, but he knew the answer. He suspected that his brother was suffering from nightmares or downright insomnia. After all, he went through hell and back… There was only so much one person could handle, even if that person was the British Government.

So Sherlock only asked:

"Sherrinford?"

Mycroft nodded quietly and burst into tears, the second time that day. However this time he buried teary face into his brother. In the morning he will probably hate the fact that he showed Sherlock such obvious weakness and they both probably will be acting like nothing happened… But for now Sherlock just embraced the boy and started to caress his head.

"Mummy was right." Mycroft whispered. "I should have done better."

"Like for example?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft looked up at him with big, sad eyes. There was so much sadness, guilt and resignation. With a shaky voice he replied:

"Better than what I did."

That was the moment when Sherlock decided: He will tell their parents about Sherrinford.


	5. Truth will set you free

**I wanted it to be a chapter about confrontation with parents, but I decided that we need a little more build-up.**

 **I've refernced both an affair Daddy Holmes had and Sherlock found out about it (which was implied in Mark Gatiss' commentary to _Scandal in Belgravia_ ), and an Oscar Wilde quote from _The Final Problem_.**

 **Please, leave a comment!**

 **Truth will set you free**

In some odd way, Anthea liked her boss. When she started her career, Mycroft Holmes was something of a legend among agents. Of course, back then she knew him by his codename, Antarctica, still she had heard the rumors. Some of these rumors sounded pretty ridiculous and Anthea wondered if they were just made up to be both awesome and scary. She didn't think about it much. She was just doing her job.

Then she heard that she caught Antarctica's attention and that he personally requested her promotion to his assistant. She didn't expect that, even in million years. Naturally, she started to wonder which rumors were true and which were just rumors. And to say she was nervous before their first meeting, was an understatement. She was both scared and excited to meet famous Antarctica, and to work for him.

When the meeting finally happened, he seemed intimidating at first. He looked like normal, if not sophisticated and polite man with umbrella… but he was giving an aura of cold calculation, professionalism and menace. She believed that this man could kill or torture somebody, orchestrate a plan to disable terrorist cells, or make certain party in some far out country win the elections. And he seemed to know everything about everybody. She finally understood why people were calling him Antarctica – because he was able to send chill down their spines.

But Anthea soon learned that Mycroft Holmes had a little brother, who was bane of his existence. Sherlock was irritating him, worrying him, making him flinch and speechless. Observing them both interacting was fascinating, but also eye opening. After first meeting with Sherlock Holmes Anthea stopped to be so scared of her boss and she actually grew to like him. Then she learned about their parents and she liked him even more.

Now she came to Baker Street to check on him. Lady Smallwood gave her order to meet with "Mike" and deliver something, and Anthea was happy to do this. She still had hard time comprehend that her employer was a child and some part of her was wondering how he was doing. Her phone was silent and it made her unnerving.

Especially because four weeks ago she heard about the grenade attack and about her boss being in the hospital… and then she learned that he was, in fact, in Sherrinford. She knew who was held there and she suspected that something truly horrible might have happened, because mister Holmes was visibly shaken. There were times when he was just zoning out, not to mention that he rarely went home from work. Anthea felt truly sorry for him.

Sherlock opened the door and quickly recognized the young woman before him. Anthea told him about coming over and she specifically chose time when Mrs. Hudson was out on a walk. The detective let the assistant in and led her to his brother's temporary bedroom.

There he was, sitting on the chair and reading a book. He would look like a normal kid, if it weren't for the fact that the book he was holding was titled _Sociopolitical causes of Pol Pot's rise to power_. Anthea had to smile at that view.

After a moment, Mycroft raised his head on the guest.

"Oh, hello, Anthea. Wait for a moment." He bookmarked the page he was reading and put the book on the nightstand.

Next he jumped off of the chair and came closer to his assistant. His movements and the way he stood in front her, reminded Anthea of his adult self, but in this small body he looked more like a child trying to mimic adults than anything else. Just like when his parents showed her their family photos, she actually thought that her employer was cute as a little boy.

"I will leave you alone." Sherlock said. "I need to do something anyway."

When he left, Anthea kneeled in front of her superior to be on his eye level. He, on the other hand, looked at her with serious expression.

"Please, sit down." He pointed at the bed. Anthea obliged and he asked: "Is everything alright? Am I needed?"

She smiled to him.

"I assure you, sir, that if this was the case, you would be informed right away." She stopped smiling and said: "Lady Smallwood sent me to ask how are you doing?"

 _And I want to know too_ – Anthea thought – _But you probably can already see it._

For a moment mister Holmes was only observing her, before he replied:

"A bit bored, to be fair. I have an urge to go to Diogenes Club, but they probably won't let me in."

Anthea understood that. Diogenes had a strict rule against the presence of children. Moreover – mister Holmes was the one who enforced this rule.

"Sherlock tries to keep me occupied," Mycroft went on. "but he's not very imaginative. He wanted to go to zoo today, can you _believe_?" He chuckled to further emphasize how ridiculous he found this idea.

Anthea tried to imagine for a moment little mister Holmes walking around the zoo and observing every single animal with mild interest. Maybe when he was actually five years old and it were his parents who took him, he was more invested in fauna, but as an adult he found it boring. No, he wasn't a nature person, that Anthea was quite sure.

"Would you like me to book tickets to British Museum, sir?" She proposed. "Or Tower?"

"No, thank you." He replied. "Knowing Sherlock, he will probably have hard time to act with minimal dignity around the treasures of history."

"So maybe you would like something to read?" Anthea suggested.

"I will find something here, but I appreciate the offer." He said, smiling politely.

"Is there anything you would like me to do?" She asked.

"I suppose you could tell me how things are going in MI6. Then again, it's not the best place to discuss confidential information."

Anthea thought so too, nevertheless she also thought that her employer was probably nervous about certain operations.

"You will be informed if something goes wrong, sir." She reassured him. "For now, as far as I know, there's no need to worry."

For a moment he was observing her in silence, before he said:

"I believe you." Then he added: "Is there anything else?"

"Why, yes. There is one last thing." She replied.

Anthea opened her purse and for couple of seconds was looking for the thing she was supposed to give mister Holmes. When she finally found it, she showed him a small brown teddy bear with blue bow around its neck. Mycroft looked at it with raised eyebrow and expression of dislike, before he turned to Anthea.

"You do know that I don't play with toys?"

"It has tracking device." She said.

A wide grin appeared on his face.

"That's my girl!" He replied and, still smiling, took the teddy bear.

They've said goodbye to each other and Anthea left the building. She was glad her boss was safe (not to mention, healthy), but she got an impression that there were things he wasn't telling her. She hoped that everything will go back to normal soon. She missed mister Holmes.

* * *

While Mycroft was talking to his assistant, Sherlock was trying to reach their parents on the phone. First time his father didn't pick up the phone (probably was working in the garden), so Sherlock tried again, this time with mother. He had a plan, he thought it through and now he was ready to put it into motion.

In the meantime he was thinking about how he was going to approach the issue with his mother and father.

Usually he didn't have much problem with talking to people, but there was always something about his parents that was often making him cautious. He didn't want to upset them, because then he was feeling like a naughty little boy once again. So he had to carefully choose words. And he couldn't say "no" to them, if they asked him to do something. They were, for the most part, sweet old couple and they cared about their children.

" _You should have done better."_

" _He did his best."_

" _Then he's very limited!"_

He could still remember Mycroft's face – this expression of utter sadness and shame, when he was scolded by his own mother for lying. Sherlock understood why his brother did that and why his parents were mad at him. But he also understood that their Mummy was, unknowingly, cruel to Mycroft. After all the trouble he went through, after all the horrible things that happened to both of them, those words had to strike him right through the heart. What was he thinking, being told that what he did wasn't enough? He already had too much on his conscience…

" _Hello, Sherlock?_ " The voice of his mother brought the detective back to reality.

"Hello, Mummy." He started. "I was thinking…"

 _Would you like to meet with me and Mycroft… Mycroft needs a break, maybe he could visit… Your oldest son is a child again and can't be turned back to normal unless you apologize to him…_

" _Yes, honey?_ " She prompted him to talk.

"Look, I'm worried about Mycroft." Sherlock finally began. "He needs a vacation. Can we… can we come visit you on a weekend?"

" _Yes, of course! It's always nice to see you two._ " Her tone was cheerful. She already was happy to see her children again.

If only she knew…

"Well then," Sherlock smiled. "how about we come at one pm?"

" _We will be waiting, honey. Bye!_ "

"Bye, mom!" And they finished the call.

The easy part was over. Now the hard part.

* * *

"You did _what_?!"

They were sitting in the kitchen and Mycroft had one of those moments, when – learning about another stupid thing Sherlock did – he was wondering if they were really related. Nobody in their right mind would think that visiting their parents, when he was in _this_ body, would help.

"Don't worry I have a plan." Sherlock replied.

"That's why I'm worried." Mycroft said. "Your plans are risky. And often catastrophic."

"Brother mine," The detective looked at him with sympathetic gaze. "no matter how you look at it, you need to show yourself to them, if you want to receive sincere apologies."

"And how would you expect them to believe that I'm really me? They will think that this is some kind of a joke of yours. _I_ thought it was a joke of yours."

"They will realize, it's you. They will remember that this is how you looked like when you were five."

"You think? Don't you overestimate the memory of our Mummy and Daddy?"

"I will help them. Don't worry."

Mycroft sighed. Then his expression became grim as he asked:

"And how do you plan to make them apologize to me in the first place?"

Sherlock's expression was focused on his brother. He replied in a calm voice:

"I will tell them about Sherrinford. The whole truth."

Mycroft's eyes widened, before he neared his face to his brother's.

"We both agreed that Mummy and Daddy don't need to know the details."

"Yeah, and maybe it was a mistake." Sherlock replied.

"No, it wasn't. Because we both know that this knowledge would shock them. Or even worse: break their hearts. How can you even contemplate this?!"

" _The truth will set you free._ " Sherlock quoted.

" _The truth_ , brother mine," Mycroft started, getting louder, " _is never pure and rarely simple_! And our parents will only get hurt if they find out what exactly Eurus did!"

For a moment Sherlock was only observing Mycroft in silence. He leaned comfortably on his chair and finally spoke:

"You're always doing that."

"Doing _what_?" Mycroft asked harshly.

"You're always lying to your family to not hurt their feelings. You've lied to me when you thought Irene Adler was dead, because you didn't want me to mourn her. You lied to our parents about my drug addiction, because you didn't want them to worry; and about Eurus, because you thought it would be better for them to not know that their child is not only alive but still able to hurt people. You tried to keep Mummy from knowing that Daddy has an affair…"

"Which you had to babble about." Mycroft pointed out. "In result, Mummy decided to drop her academic career to keep family together."

"That's when you came to the conclusion that lies are better than truth?"

"Some truths shouldn't see the light of day and you know it. I've learned it the hard way more times than you can imagine, brother dear. So don't you _dare_ drop this bomb on our parents."

To the boy's surprise, Sherlock put his hands on Mycroft's and gazed into his eyes, before he said in a calm voice:

"You know who often gets hurt the most? Not the people, who are lied to, but the liars themselves. And don't deny that you were hurt. You had to watch our parents mourn our sister and me forgetting her, while you knew the truth. You had to keep from Mummy and Daddy the fact that I'm addicted to drugs, so you were the only one dealing with the ugly parts of it. You had to tell these and more lies so our family could be happy… but in expense of your own feelings."

Mycroft avoided his gaze, thinking about what Sherlock just said. There was some truth in it… He knew perfectly well what he would have to suffer for the sake of his family, and he was ready for this. There were things more important than his feelings. The lies were far more pretty and far less troublesome.

Suddenly Sherlock put his hand under Mycroft's chin and lifted it delicately, forcing his brother to look him in the eyes.

"Your job is to know and to keep secrets." He said. "My job is to know and to reveal the truth."

Mycroft frowned and pushed Sherlock's hand away.

"And do you think it will magically solve all the problems? You think it will make all the heartache and distrust go away? You think that by revealing what Eurus made us do, you will do our parents a favor? No, brother dear, you will only make them unhappy. And I can't let you do it."

Sherlock neared his face to Mycroft and replied:

"You are a child. The happiness of your parents isn't your responsibility."

Mycroft's expression changed from fierce to sad. He sighed and leaned on the chair, before he looked at Sherlock once again.

"It is my responsibility." He said, dropping his gaze. "And believe me, when I'm telling the truth, the outcome is always worse."

Couple of painful memories flashed before his eyes, all too fresh in his mind. He clenched his fists. But then felt Sherlock's reassuring hand on his shoulder, so he had to look at him. His baby brother was smiling at him, just like that first night on Baker Street.

"That is why, brother dear, I will do the talking."

"Sherlock, please, don't tell them." Mycroft knew he was almost begging.

"I'm the big brother now." Sherlock smiled. "From now on, I will be the one facing the wrath of our parents."

"You will break their hearts." Mycroft's voice was shaking.

"No. I will save yours." Sherlock replied.

 _Mine heart isn't worth it_ – Mycroft wanted to say, but he thought it sounded overly dramatic, like a text taken straight out of some kind of soap opera. But the older Holmes brother did hope that Sherlock will realize, what he was trying to do was both stupid and cruel.

"Mycroft," The detective said. "I promised that I will turn you back to normal. This is what I have to do. Mummy and Daddy should know about Sherrinford. They should know that their son is hurt and needs consolation, not berating."

Mycroft wanted to say something, but suddenly they've heard the main door opening. Mrs. Hudson came back from her walk. They couldn't continue this conversation, not when she could overhear them. And so for the rest of the day they weren't coming back to this subject.

Still, until the Saturday (and even during the drive to their parents' house!), Mycroft desperately tried to persuade his brother not to tell their mother and father about Sherrinford. He tried everything: begging, bargaining, threatening… he even called Anthea, Lady Smallwood and doctor Watson for help. His assistant sent few agents to knock his brother unconscious, but it proved to be futile, because Sherlock avoided each and one of the attacks. Alicia said that she can't do much at the moment, due to lots of work. John… John said he attempted to make Sherlock reconsider his decision, but to no avail. Sherlock was, after all, always a stubborn bastard. And his stubbornness proved, once again, to be a bane of Mycroft's existence. Not to mention that in this form, the older Holmes brother couldn't do much to stop him.

So the older Holmes brother was waiting for inevitable. The closer they were to their parents house, the more scared he felt. Various horrible, painful scenarios were playing before his eyes, as he was imagining Mummy and Daddy learning the terrifying truth. This idiot thought he was doing the right thing, but he was wrong, so horribly, _horribly_ wrong… And the worst part was that Mycroft was helpless to stop him, because nothing was getting into this thick skull of Sherlock's.

When they finally reached their parents' cottage, Sherlock came out of the car (that Anthea provided) and opened the door for Mycroft. The boy didn't want to go out.

"Don't be a baby." Sherlock whispered, rolling his eyes.

"I will go out, only if you keep the secret." Mycroft tried one last time.

"You know, I can't do it."

"Of course, you can! It's only a matter of your choice."

"I've made my choice. Now's your turn: You either go out on your own, or I will drag you out. I am, after all, bigger and stronger than you at the moment."

Mycroft wished to stay in this car forever. If he couldn't change Sherlock's mind, he at least wanted to not witness his parents learning the horrible truth. But some kind of awful sense of duty was pressing him to go outside. He had to be present. He didn't quite know why, but he had to. And who knows – maybe he would be able to do some damage control… Just like he was always doing…

And before he could make his mind, their parents went out to greet them. They seemed so happy to see Sherlock, so unaware of what his younger son was going to do to them… For a moment Mycroft wasn't going out of the car, to not make them realize that instead of their elder son, there is some unknown five year old.

They stopped at the car and Mummy almost hugged Sherlock, but suddenly noticed a strange child in the back seat. Surprised, she looked at her younger son. However it was Daddy who spoke first:

"Sherlock, who is this little boy?"

"And where is Mycroft?" Their mother inquired. "He was supposed to be with you."

Mycroft felt cold sweat going down his spine.

"Let us go inside. I will explain everything there." Sherlock said.

And so Mycroft finally came out of the car. Sherlock took the baggage and went after their parents. All four of them walked down the paved path to the porch and Daddy opened the door for them. Once they were inside, Sherlock and Mycroft took off their outwears and put it on the hooks.

"Well, Sherlock?" Their mother asked. "Who is this child?"

Detective looked at her with a smile.

"Why, of course, this is Mycroft!"


	6. Justice for Mycroft!

**So here it is. The confrontation scene. It didn't turn out as good as I hoped for (and I think that Sherlock is a bit OOC... and suspension of disbelief is strung all the way to China), but I've managed to include most of the points I wanted to make (like my vision on how Mycroft and Eurus' relationship was going).**

 **Originally there was suppose to be a scene in the end, when Daddy Holmes comes to Mycroft's room and they have conversation about various things, but I thought it would be too much for this chapter. Therefore Holmes parents' POV will be in next chapter. Stay tuned!**

 **Also: comments would be awesome.**

 **Justice for Mycroft!**

"Is this some kind of a joke?" Mummy asked.

Mycroft turned to Sherlock and gave him the "I told you so" face.

"I know it sounds ridiculous," The detective started. "but I can prove that this is, in fact, my big brother Mycroft. First, let's go to the living room."

Their parents sat on the couch, while Mycroft was settled in the armchair. Sherlock didn't sit down, but started to look through the bookshelves. After about two minutes he finally found the photo album and quickly drew out the picture with five year old Mycroft. Next he gave it to Mummy.

"Now look carefully." He said. "And tell me that resemblance isn't striking."

Their parents looked at the picture, then on the boy in the armchair and then again on the picture. For a moment they seemed to ponder this odd situation. Mycroft knew they wouldn't believe it. What Sherlock tried to accomplish?

Finally Mummy looked up at her younger son and gave the picture back.

"I don't know how you did it, but if you think we will buy it, young man…"

"Then ask him something only Mycroft would know." Sherlock cut in. "Something he would never reveal to anyone. Something that isn't in his files."

Mycroft thought this was a bit better. And he already knew what to say.

Another moment of silence as Mummy was observing Sherlock with uncertainty. Then her gaze became more determined, as she stood up, came to Mycroft, kneeled in front of him and looked into his eyes. He was used to this kind of eye contacts… the ones that were supposed to intimidate him. He was using this trick too, more often than he could count. But there was something in the way Mummy was doing it that made him a bit uneasy. And in this body he felt even more like a little boy who just behaved badly.

"Tell me, young man, where are the cranberry muffins?" She asked.

Long time ago, Mycroft made few plans in case his parents would be targeted because of his work. There was one plan made specifically for the possibility that there could be someone impersonating him (either by the phone or in person). He and his parents established that if Mummy or Daddy would have any suspicions regarding his son's identity, they had to ask (very casually) where are the cranberry muffins. Normal person would say something alongside of: "In the kitchen.", or "On the table." But the right answer was…

"The cranberry muffins are in the basement."

The look on his mother's face was priceless. She immediately was taken aback by his words. Maybe she will eventually believe Sherlock, but Mycroft knew she needed a little more time. Probably a day or two.

And so she stood up and turned to Sherlock, saying:

"This doesn't prove anything. Mycroft could tell this child about this."

Now Mycroft felt offended.

"Oh, please." He said, turning attention of all three adults on himself. "Do you think I'm an idiot, Mummy? Do you really think I would reveal an important password to a five year old? For goodness' sake, I'm in MI6."

Mummy and Daddy were observing him carefully and then their faces showed a sudden realization. Apparently he said something which convinced them that the little boy on the armchair is really their son.

Mother seemed to be still shocked by the realization. Nevertheless she turned again to Sherlock and asked:

"How is it possible?"

"That's not important right now." Sherlock replied. "Right now the important thing is to turn him back to normal. That's why we've come here."

"And how are you going to do it?" Daddy spoke for the first time since their sons arrived.

"The person who did it to him," The detective started. "said they will change him back to adult only if three conditions will be met. One of these conditions is you apologizing to Mycroft sincerely."

Mummy chuckled. Just the way Mycroft suspected her to react on that news.

"This is ridiculous. What are we have to apologize for?"

"I'm glad, you've asked, Mummy." Sherlock said with a light smile. "Please, sit down."

She sat back next to her husband. Sherlock, on the other hand, stood in the middle of the living room. For a moment he was silent, probably building a tension. Mycroft rolled his eyes. Always a drama queen…

"Let me tell you a story about a little boy." The detective finally began. "Let's call him Mycroft, shall we? A bit weird name, to be fair. One of many banes of his existence."

"Sherlock…" Mycroft started with annoyance, but was quickly cut off by his brother:

" _I_ will do the talking." He turned back to their parents. "So here he is. At first just a little bundle of joy. Probably most people think he's a cute baby. But the older he is, the more it's obvious he's not like the other children. He's smart, and observant, and likes to play on his own. Therefore his parents take him to child psychologist who put him through the IQ test. And what's revealed? That little Mycroft is remarkable. His IQ is far above the average. These are marvelous news for Mycroft's Mummy and Daddy. After all, what parent doesn't wish to have a genius for a child?"

"Sherlock, where are you going with this?" His father asked.

Mycroft knew where his brother was going. And he felt uncomfortable.

"Time is passing." Sherlock went on. "And in age of seven Mycroft becomes a big brother. First to Sherlock, then, a year later, to Eurus. He's even told he has to take care of them. For the first couple of years, Sherlock and Eurus are just a regular children, and Mycroft, as most big brothers, don't like his siblings very much. But at least he has company. At least he has someone to play with, since he's not the only child in the family anymore. However…" Sherlock made a dramatic pause and looked at Mycroft. After a moment of silence he continued: "However, soon Eurus started to act even weirder than her older brother. Moreover, the first person, who realized that she was acting weird was none other than little Mycroft himself."

The older of Holmes brothers clenched his fists. Their parents on the other hand, widened their eyes in surprise. Sherlock noticed it.

"There is something Eurus told me the first time I've visited her in Sherrinford." He turned to them. His voice was quiet, almost hissing. "She said: 'Mycroft was quite clever. He could understand things if you went a bit slow…' He tried to warn you, didn't he? Every time, when Eurus did or said something disturbing; every time when he suspected that she's planning something bad, he was trying to warn you. But you didn't listen."

A number of bad memories washed over Mycroft, and the awful feelings alongside with it. The horror of realizing that his little sister was capable of performing horrible deeds… The feeling of hopelessness when his warnings fell on the deaf ears… The horrible awareness that no matter what he did, he won't stop her…

He looked at his parents. Mummy and Daddy tried to avoid Sherlock's gaze.

"I mean," Their younger son went on, this time in normal tone. "who would listen to a teenage boy? Teenagers tend to say mean things about their siblings, especially little sisters. And he was probably jealous of her, anyway. Right?"

Mycroft clenched his fists again. Damn it, Sherlock… he was supposed to only tell them about Sherrinford. Not analyzing his miserable childhood.

"So," Sherlock proceeded. "Mycroft took it upon himself to protect everyone around from Eurus. He tried really hard, but he was just a kid. And nobody would believe him, anyway."

"What are you trying to say, Sherlock?!" Daddy asked, his eyes fierce, his voice loud. "That we are bad parents?!"

"It's true that we didn't believe Mycroft, but after some time we noticed what she was doing." Mummy added. "Now try to put yourself in our position: you have a child who acts disturbing and you don't know what to do with them. Sure, now you can say that the best course of action would be sending her to some institution, but, honestly, you think that a parent want to do this to their child? This is a drastic measure, so a good parent would first try something less drastic."

"I do believe that, for the most part, you just didn't know what to do." Sherlock replied with a little more sympathy. "And that you're still feeling guilty because of what happened with Victor. You probably were thinking many times: 'What if we reacted sooner… What if we tried harder…' And you probably couldn't apologize to Trevors enough."

"Then there was the fire of Musgrave," His father replied. "and we had to move Eurus to mental asylum, and then we've learned that it also burnt down, alongside with our daughter…"

"And you were in shock and started forgetting that you've ever had a sister." His mother continued.

"Ah, yes, my memory loss." Sherlock leaned on the fireplace. "Tell me, was rewriting my memories uncle Rudy's idea?"

This sudden change of subject made their parents speechless for a moment. But when they opened their mouths to respond…

"Yes." Mycroft said and looked at his brother with sad eyes. "He convinced all three of us that it would be better for you if you forgot Eurus and believed that Redbeard was a dog."

Sherlock gave him a sympathetic smile. Then his expression became fierce as he turned to their Mummy and Daddy.

"Last time you've yelled at Mycroft for lying to you… But have you put into consideration what Uncle Rudy did to him?"

"What do you mean?" Father asked, suddenly alarmed. "What Rudy did to Mycroft?"

"He made him a secret keeper." Sherlock replied and Daddy relaxed a bit. "Mycroft was the only one who knew that Eurus is alive. A teenage boy was the only one who knew about Eurus being kept in Sherrinford, and he had to keep it from his grieving family. Now put yourself in _his_ position. You were entrusted with a horrible secret. A horrible secret that had to be kept from your close ones, because you believe that the truth will only hurt them. And not only that," Sherlock took few steps forward and stood right in front of Mummy and Daddy. "but he also took it upon himself to continue Uncle Rudy's work."

"He still should have told us." Mummy cut in harshly. "We are her parents. And our daughter spent almost thirty years in isolation… If he's such an important person in British Government, than he should have pull some strings and let us see her."

"Oh, you wouldn't believe what he's doing to keep this family together." Sherlock said, giving a cheerless chuckle.

"We don't need to listen to this." His father stood up, but Sherlock put hand on his shoulder.

"Dad," He said, but this time his tone was calmer. "there is something you both need to know."

But the old man pushed Sherlock's hand away and looked his son in the eyes.

"Whatever you think we are guilty of, this doesn't make what Mycroft has done fine. He could told us any time that Eurus is alive, but he kept it from us for all those years. And who knows what they were doing to her, when she was there… Have you ever considered how lonely she must have felt? Because I think about it constantly and wonder how her own brother did this to her. And he dared to call it kindness."

"He's not a victim here." His mother added. "He made a choice and he has to live with the consequences."

Mycroft looked down. Choices… If only his parents knew what kind of choices he had to make every day; how horribly aware he was of the consequences he was going to live with, and how tired he felt all the time. He never told them, because why would he? Good portion of it was confidential. So Mummy and Daddy had no idea how stressed he was, how many things he had to keep an eye on; how _guilty_ he felt.

Ah, yes, guilt. Guilt was an old friend of his. He had to live with constant guilt over his sister, over his brother, over his mistakes that resulted in horrible consequences. He felt guilty even back then, when his brother was going to kill him.

Mycroft was coming back to that moment many times. He would still do this – he would still sacrifice himself for Sherlock's sake – but some part of him was sad and angry that this choice seemed so simple. Yes, Sherlock hesitated, and yes, he refused to shot him in the end. Still, initially he aimed the gun on Mycroft. Maybe it was because his brother was actually ready to die for John Watson that Sherlock made this choice… but Mycroft couldn't help but think that in that moment they both thought he was replaceable. He made a horrible mistake, so he deserved to die, anyway. His mind kept reminding him about this moment, on and on.

Maybe their parents should know about it. Maybe they should be aware that he almost died. But, honestly, would they even care?

"You don't understand." Sherlock's voice brought him back to reality. "This is not about Eurus. This is about Mycroft."

"We are still talking about Mycroft." Mummy replied. "I don't know why you think that we have to apologize to him."

"The simple answer is that you've hurt him."

"Well, he hurt us too." Daddy said. "And frankly, he still didn't apologize for it."

 _I guess, they're right_ – Mycroft thought.

"I'm sorry." He spoke and looked at his parents. "I was only…"

"We're not interested in your excuses." Mummy cut in. "We've listened enough of them in your cabinet."

Mycroft clenched his fists again. He felt anger boiling inside of him. It was just like back then, when he told them about Eurus being alive. He was trying to explain himself, but almost every time when he was going to elaborate, Mummy or Daddy didn't let him. They were just scolding him, adding insults to injury.

"Psst." A quiet, barely hearable voice called to him. Mycroft looked at his left, where a miniature Herbert was sitting next to his hand. The cherub smiled to him friendly and whispered: "Remember, you're a child. You're allowed to do childish things." And then he disappeared.

Mycroft mused about what he just heard. Childish things… What was that children were always doing? Aside of being loud and obnoxious, and… He widened his eyes with sudden realization. Now he understood. Everything seemed so clear…

"Mummy, Daddy." He spoke to them, suddenly turning everybody's attention on himself. Once they stopped talking and looked at him, he added: "I hate you."

 _You're allowed to do childish things…_ meant: _You're allowed to be selfish…_

"I hate that you never listen to me." He went on, his voice cracking.

 _You should have done better!_

"I hate that nothing I ever do seems to be enough."

 _Goodbye, brother mine…_

"I hate that I've almost died," Two streams ran down his cheeks. "and you don't even care."

Here, the bomb has been dropped. And Mycroft could observe as Mummy and Daddy's expressions change from mildly offended to shocked.

"Died?!" Mummy was first to speak. "Honey, what are you talking about?!"

Now there was no other choice – Sherlock would have to tell them about Sherrinford. But honestly, Mycroft was too angry to care. He was even angrier that she called him "honey", like she didn't just spend couple of minutes scolding him; like she didn't call him "idiot boy", when they spoke last time.

He just jumped off the armchair and directed towards the door.

"Where are you going?" Daddy called after him. "Talk to us, Mycroft!"

The boy stopped at the door and looked back.

"I will be in my room. Sherlock will explain everything to you."

He left the living room and walked upstairs. As he climbed through stairs, he could hear voices coming from the living room:

"Sherlock, what's going on?"

"Well, Mummy…"

* * *

Just as he planned, Sherlock told his parents the whole story. He started from the fact that Eurus got out of her imprisonment and shot John. Then he proceed with their arrival to Sherrinford and what they've learned from there. Then he described every trial she put through her two brothers and doctor Watson.

The detective observed his parents' reactions. The part about the governor made them wide their eyes in shock (they felt sorry for David and Sherlock noticed that Daddy embraced Mummy tighter, once he learned about governor's wife being shot either way) and the part about Molly made them visibly uncomfortable (they felt sorry for Sherlock and what he had to do to save her).

Then there was the part about choice. When Mummy and Daddy learned that her daughter forced Sherlock to choose between Mycroft and John, they were horrified. The more he went on, the more horror-struck they were. He almost regretted that he had to do it. He regretted that he had to reveal what Eurus did to him, but he knew it couldn't be helped. If Mycroft was going to go back to being an adult, Mummy and Daddy had to know what he went through. They had to know that they've almost lost their eldest son in a sick game designed by their youngest daughter. And he had to tell them that Mycroft was ready to die and that Sherlock – in the end – couldn't shoot him.

"My God!" Mummy said. "Poor, poor Myc…"

"When I woke up, I was alone." Sherlock concluded. "Eurus enabled the connection between me and John, but neither one of us knew where he was. I was afraid that she might have killed him, when I was knocked out. But later it turned out she just put him in her old cell."

He also didn't forget to mention that Eurus tried to drown John just like she did with Victor Trevor.

When he finished, there was a short moment of silence in which Sherlock observed his parents. They were visibly shaken. Well, obviously, they've just learned a horrible truth involving all three of their children. But were they feeling any remorse? Were they understanding what their words did to Mycroft? Maybe they needed time to process new information. Maybe they needed peace and quiet.

Suddenly they looked at Sherlock, still dazed.

"How are you both doing after all of this?" Daddy asked.

"I will be fine, but I'm worried about Mycroft. I've heard from one of his coworkers that he rarely spends nights in his own home. This coworker suspects it's because he doesn't feel safe there. He also has nightmares about Sherrinford."

"Is it possible that him being child now is somehow a result of his trauma?" His father inquired further.

"No, that's a whole another story."

And so Sherlock told them also about Herbert and what were cherub's conditions for turning Mycroft back.

"This is too much." Mummy said. "I'm sorry, Sherlock, but I can barely believe in your story."

"Me too." Daddy added. "We need some time to think everything through."

"I understand." Sherlock replied and stood up. "I will check on Mycroft."

And so he left his parents alone with their thoughts. Now everything depended on them.


	7. Very limited parents

**So here's Holmes parents' POV. I just want to say that I was crying, while writing Daddy Holmes part.**

 **I also used their fan names - Siger and Violet - because in this chapter I couldn't just call them Mummy and Daddy.**

 **Please, leave comment. And prompts.**

 **Very limited parents**

It was three in the afternoon, when Siger Holmes knocked to his elder son's bedroom. The conversation with Sherlock was still fresh in his mind and opened his eyes to certain facts, the more he was thinking about it. He felt awful. He said too many harsh things and he decided it was time to make amends.

"What is it, Dad?" Mycroft's voice inquired from the other side.

Siger smiled. Somehow his firstborn always knew who was knocking to his door, even if that person was completely quiet. But Siger's children were always remarkably bright, so he stopped to be surprised long time ago.

"I want to talk with you." He finally replied. "Can I come in?"

"If you must…" A bit annoyed Mycroft said.

And so Siger pulled the doorknob and entered the room. Mycroft was sitting on the bed, a history book on his lap and look of mild irritation on his face. This also wasn't uncommon view for Siger. Even as a child, his son was often reading books far beyond his age and he was always annoyed whenever his parents were interrupting him.

The father observed the son for a moment. God, he was so small… Everything about him was tiny… It was like they were turned back in time; or like last three decades never happened. Like his eldest son was still an innocent, if not amazingly bright, little boy. Momentarily Siger's mind was flooded with fond memories of happier days, filled with beach picnics, make-believes, carriages strolling down the park and child's laughter. Days when everything seemed to be simple and his babies didn't have to worry about demons lurking in humanity.

Or so he thought back then…

Siger sat next to his son and smiled to him lightly.

"You know," He began. "I never knew what was in this head of yours. Your mind was always working on completely different level than mine." Siger's smile weakened. "It's your mother's genes certainly. She's a mathematical genius, so no wonder she gave me three genius children. It seemed like there was a bright future before you and your siblings…"

He stopped and looked at Mycroft. God, he was so small… A chubby little boy, so delicate and vulnerable to attacks from unfriendly world… Siger remembered the crying in the night, the scratched knees, the teasing children… He even remembered a nasty prank Mycroft's classmates pulled on him when he was in middle school. And the old man remembered this feeling whenever his son was sad… this feeling of wanting to make everything better.

He also remembered the look of disappointment in Mycroft's eyes.

"But you were always too observant for your own good." He proceeded, his voice cracking from the emotions. "It was no use in hiding bad news from you. You always knew that something was up. Like that time with your nanny…"

Siger remembered that moment very well. That moment when his own son came to his study and confronted him about his affair. This look on his face… this look of disgust and hurt. How could his father did this to his mother, he was asking. How could Siger cheat on his wife with a younger woman? Had he no shame? He needed to end this silly relationship as soon as possible, before Mummy would find out and her heart would be broken.

And Siger knew that Mycroft was fighting with himself to not reveal this horrible truth to his mother. That he despised his Daddy for this moment of weakness, for his selfishness. There were times during this short adventure with boys' nanny that he was disgusted with himself too, but the feeling hit him even harder once he saw this look on Mycroft's face. Because it was a reminder of how low he has fallen.

Siger felt tears forming in his eyes.

"Dad, I…" Mycroft in the present started, looking up at his father, but Siger hushed him.

God, he was so small… So easy to get hurt…

"I was always the idiot in this family." Siger continued. "I wasn't the best husband, and certainly not the best father."

"No, no, you're not an idiot." Mycroft cut in, smiling lightly.

God, he was so small… and yet he endured so much pain. Siger felt an urge to embrace him, to hold him. Mycroft was a child now, right? Parents hold their children. Parents make their children feel better. Parents protect their children.

 _I hate that I've almost died, and you don't even care._

Siger swallowed a lump in his throat and said:

"Have I ever told you about your first field work mission?"

"Well, you didn't have to." Mycroft replied. "I was there, after all."

"But have I told you that I was scared?"

Mycroft didn't look stunned by this confession… but he also wasn't saying anything. He probably just waited for his father to elaborate.

"Why they decided that you needed to be sent to North Korea, I still don't know." Siger went on and this time he couldn't stop the tears. "Your place is in the shadows. Your job is to observe, make connections, decrypt hidden messages, predict the possible outcomes… And yet they decided to put you in danger."

"Nobody else could do it." Mycroft replied with calm voice.

" _Any_ idiot could do it. It was an easy mission. They should have send regular agents. They didn't have to send _you_."

"If this mission was so easy, why you were scared?" His son asked, looking at him with smug.

"Because my son could die." Siger smiled bitterly through tears running down his face.

He put his old hand on Mycroft's chubby cheek. It felt just as soft and delicate as he remembered from happier times. Mycroft himself was just staring at him with surprise and not moving a muscle.

"I was afraid that you won't come back." Siger continued, sobbing. "That you will get captured and they will torture you, and then…"

He remembered this tension when he was waiting for any news on Mycroft's mission. He remembered these horrible scenarios playing inside his head as he was scared for his son's life. He hoped that Mycroft would be sensible and come back home, but there was still this fear that something will go wrong.

"I've already lost one child." Siger said, still crying. "I didn't want to lose another."

"You wouldn't." Mycroft smiled, put his hands on his father's hand and gently pushed it away. "I knew what I was doing." His smile weakened. "I always do."

 _And yet you've almost died_ – Siger thought. – _The worst part was that, even then, you knew what you were doing._

God, he was so small…

The head of Holmes family pulled his son on his lap and into a hug and kept whimpering. He was caressing Mycroft's head, holding tight his little body like he was trying to comfort him after a nightmare. Mycroft, on the other hand, only hugged him back.

"I'm sorry, Myc." Siger whispered. "I've said some horrible things in anger."

"You didn't know…" Mycroft started, but his father cut in:

"I did many stupid, _stupid_ things and you got hurt. I should have listen to you more often." He looked down at Mycroft and Mycroft looked back at him. Then Siger added: "And if there is anything you ever need, tell me. I will try to be there for you."

God, Mycroft was so small… so much so that Siger wanted nothing more than keep him from harm. But the harm was already done and the only thing he could do about it was to help his son heal.

* * *

Violet Holmes was chopping the carrot for the soup. She tried not to think about latest revelations, but automatic movements let her mind go astray and wander through unwanted territories.

It was supposed to be a family weekend. Her two sons visiting her and Siger, have a nice family dinner, maybe play some games. She expected many things, she knew her boys and was ready for almost every shenanigan of Sherlock and every pout of Mycroft. Yes, she was kind of uneasy, because of what she found out about Eurus, nevertheless she couldn't help the feeling that they were on good path to rebuild family trust.

She wasn't ready for Sherlock scolding her and Siger for their parenting. She wasn't ready for truth about Eurus' break out. She wasn't ready to learn that her eldest son was almost killed by his own brother. And she certainly wasn't ready for Mycroft being child again. It was like a dream, but somehow this dream was strangely real and no matter how hard Violet wanted to wake up, she couldn't.

Sherlock said that they should apologize to Mycroft, if they wanted him to be an adult again. He even pointed out what they should be sorry for, and the more Violet was thinking about it, the more she felt that she did say some harsh words back then, in Mycroft's cabinet. She wondered if she would still say them if she knew what he went through. She wanted to believe that she wouldn't; that as much as she would be angry at him for lying, she would have enough compassion to not do this to him.

She let him down, he let down her – the endless circle of mistakes was spinning and sometimes there was nothing one could do about it. Violet knew she wasn't the best mother in the world and honestly, which mother was? She was only human.

But she still felt guilty.

She put the chopped carrot into the pot and started to look for a soup spice, when she noticed a little boy sitting on the counter. The boy was chubby with curly, light hair. And he had wings.

"Hello, Mrs. Holmes." He said and extended his hand towards her. "My name is Herbert and I'm a big fan of your eldest son."

She looked at him with surprise, before she remembered something.

"You…" She hissed at him. "You're the one who turned Mycroft into five year old."

"Yup." He replied with a wide grin.

"Turn him back to normal. _Now_." Violet demanded, causing him to drop his smile.

"I'm sorry, but it's not an option. Not all the conditions has been met, yet."

For a moment Violet wasn't sure what to say. So she settled for the next best thing:

"He has important work to do…"

"He's a child. The United Kingdom isn't his responsibility. Although," The cherub added with another smile. "he's awesome also in managing the national security."

"Turn him back." Violet repeated.

"Why?"

Violet sighed.

"I don't think you understand how frustrating it must be for him. He's a respected government official…"

"Oh, really? And I thought he's very limited."

His words pierced through her.

" _He did his best."_

" _Then he's very limited!"_

Right now, with knowledge of things she didn't know about back then, she felt ashamed of what she said. Especially because the look on Mycroft's face was heartbreaking. Why she didn't notice it back then? Why she let her anger forget that he had feelings too?

"Why do you want him to grow up so fast?" Herbert started again. "You didn't even try to lift his burden, yet you want to put it back on his shoulders?"

"And you think that me apologizing to him will do just that?" She looked at him grimly. "The things he went through… they can't be fixed with 'I'm sorry.'"

The cherub gave her a sad look, then jumped off the counter and started to float in the air.

"How about you make your son feel that he's not alone?" He flew closer to her. "That he has a home he can always go to? That you will always be there for him?"

Violet dropped her gaze. Herbert was right, of course. And she promised to herself that she will take care of Mycroft the best she could. In fact, all of her children needed her right now. Now she could see it. The amount of damage that has been done to all three of her offspring. But honestly it felt like a too big of a challenge… Lullabies and hugs just wouldn't do.

"Look, Mrs. Holmes." Herbert said turning her attention back on himself.

Suddenly an umbrella appeared in his hands, and she immediately recognized it was Mycroft's. It seemed to be a bit too big for the cherub, nevertheless, he was holding it firmly in his small hands.

Herbert lowered his flight a bit, so the pointy end of the umbrella would touch the ground.

"When Mycroft first met doctor Watson, he was standing like this." The cherub leaned on it and made a nonchalant pose… which was hard for him, since the umbrella was far too long. "Neat, huh? And look at this."

He took the umbrella by a handle, screw it a bit and revealed to Violet a hidden blade.

"Pretty cool, don't you thing?"

"I don't know…" Violet started, but Herbert cut in:

"And that's not enough! There's even a gun here!"

"Gun?!" Her eyes widened. "Isn't it a bit too much?!"

"No, it's crazy awesome!" Herbert replied, hiding the blade back in the umbrella. Then he held the object to his chest and once again flew closer to Violet. Right now he was staring right into her eyes and his expression was poignant. "Tell me, Mrs. Holmes," He began, smiling lightly. "isn't your son amazing?"

Violet looked at him. In her life, she repeatedly heard from various people that Mycroft was an incredibly gifted child. There was no doubt here – he was brilliant. On the one hand, she thought it was fantastic, on the other – his abilities had its downsides, when it came to his personality. Mycroft was arrogant and often rude. He also wasn't very social, because for him everyone else was a goldfish (whatever it meant).

He grew up to be important, that's for sure. He used his gifts to work for his country. Violet never knew what exactly he was doing (aside from surveillance and politics), but he never missed an opportunity to tell her that people were depending on him. There was even one time when he had to leave Easter dinner because some crisis in Russia.

She didn't want to think about it. She thought that Mycroft was too full of himself, like this important job he was doing gave him permission to look down on everyone else. So she thought it was appropriate to bring him down on earth.

Of course, Herbert thought Mycroft was amazing. The cherub was, after all, his fan. But she couldn't help but think that maybe there was another reason he showed her the sword in her son's umbrella.

She looked up to ask about it, however, the cherub was gone. But she didn't have time to ponder about it, because someone rung to the front door.

"Sherlock, please, check who's there!" She called to her younger son. "I need to take care of the dinner!"

Sherlock didn't do as he was told. In fact, Violet didn't know where he was. Siger also didn't move from upstairs, so it looked like checking the door fell upon her. Violet sighed and went out of the kitchen. Once she looked through the peephole, she raised her eyebrows with surprise. Then she opened the door and greeted her guest:

"Anthea? What are you doing here?"


	8. Big boys don't need lullabies

**You know, the more I'm working about this fic, the less I know how to look at Holmes parents. And I'm not sure if the way I write them is good, you know.**

 **This is one of this fics where I use lullaby as a plot device. Today one song is discussed ( _Cossack lullaby_ ), while the other ( _All The Pretty Little Horses_ ) is both discussed and quoted.**

 **I also decided that I will write at least two more chapters of this fic.**

 **Any comments would be awesome.**

 **Big boys don't need lullabies**

Mycroft's assistant was standing on Holmes' porch, with briefcase in her hand. She looked serious… but also nervous. She didn't responded right away to Violet's question, so the woman had bad feelings about this sudden visit.

"Love sent you." Came from the upstairs.

Both women looked in that direction. Mycroft was standing on the top, alongside with his father. Boy's expression was serious too. It wouldn't be so odd, after all Violet was used to him being all professional… But on his five year old face it seemed out of place.

 _Love sent you…_ It was a weird thing for her eldest to say, so Violet asked:

"Love?"

"A colleague of mine." Mycroft explained, resting his hand on the railing and starting to walk down the stairs.

"Lady Smallwood!" Sherlock called from his own room. Oh, so there he was…

Mycroft stopped in the middle of the stairs, frowned and called back:

"Would it kill you to be a little more discreet, brother mine?"

"Whatever you say, Antarctica!" Came from Sherlock's room.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, gave a soft sigh and proceeded down the stairs, while Anthea finally entered the house. Soon he greeted his assistant with a polite smile. Violet observed Anthea carefully. The girl didn't seem to be even a little bit surprised by the fact that her employer was a five year old now. Which made sense, according to what Sherlock had told them earlier.

"So," Mycroft started, keeping his hands behind his back. "Lady Smallwood wants to know how I'm doing?" It wasn't exactly a question. It was more like stating a fact.

"Yes, sir." Anthea said. "I was ordered to check if you need something."

For a moment Mycroft didn't say anything. He was just observing the girl. Violet wondered if he was hesitating to tell Anthea about his latest outburst.

"There are three adults in this house." he finally spoke. "Two of them you could actually call responsible."

"I've heard that!" Sherlock called. Mycroft rolled his eyes again, before he looked back at his assistant.

"Tell Lady Smallwood there's no need to worry. I'm spending weekend with my family and I'm fine."

There was something in his eyes that was indicating he wasn't exactly telling the truth. It was one of those moments when mother knew her child was hiding that he wasn't fine.

"Are you sure, sir?" Anthea asked.

"Yes, I am." He said and turned to his mother. With a bit of coldness and forced politeness, he said: "Mummy, my assistant drove all the way through here. Maybe it could be arranged so she could eat dinner with us?"

Violet smiled.

"Well, I was actually going to ask her if she wanted to join us."

"Thank you, Mummy." Mycroft gave restrained look and came back to Anthea. "Now, would you like to go upstairs? There are few questions I want to ask."

"Yes, sir."

And so they went up, passing Siger, who was still standing in the same spot on the top of the stairs. Soon Mycroft and his assistant entered his bedroom and Violet looked at her husband.

"No eavesdropping, honey. They might talk about security things and would have to kill you later for knowing too much."

Siger started to go down. When he was finally on the ground level, he directed to the living room and Violet came back to the kitchen. Frankly she didn't began boiling the pot, so there was no disaster waiting for her there.

* * *

While Violet was cooking the dinner, she thought about the situation, trying to somehow make some sense of it. First things first – she would serve the dinner and try to make her boys' stay here warm and happy. Some games in the evening, some cookies, maybe they will watch a movie. The normal things. Maybe Anthea will join too…

Violet saddened. Anthea's presence here was worrying her. She had nothing against the girl, she was just doing her job and, frankly, was rather nice girl. But Anthea meant work. Anthea meant politics. Anthea meant all the little secret crises Mycroft had to prevent. And wasn't he supposed to be on vacation?

 _Why do you want him to grow up so fast? You didn't even try to lift his burden, yet you want to put it back on his shoulders?_

Growing up… Wasn't it what Sherlock wanted to tell them (among many other things)? That Mycroft was forced to grow up due to the events with Eurus?

 _A teenage boy was the only one who knew about Eurus being kept in Sherrinford, and he had to keep it from his grieving family…_

Maybe that's why Herbert decided to turn Mycroft into a child. A child shouldn't be burdened with horrors of this world. They should not worry about politics, psychopaths, death and misery. They should play with their toys, make friends, learn new things. There was a time and place for everything. No child should be forced to grow up too fast.

Yet Mycroft was. And she didn't even notice…

* * *

Around five o'clock the dinner was ready. And while Sherlock and Siger showed up almost immediately after she called them, Mycroft and Anthea took a little more time. In fact, Violet didn't hear any indication that they've heard her at all. After five minutes of waiting for them, she finally decided to go up and check on them. Sherlock offered to do it for her, but she refused, partly directed by curiosity on what her elder son and his assistant were doing.

Once she was at Mycroft's door, she heard voices…

"And what about mission in Australia?"

"There were… _problems_ but we managed to succeed, sir."

"By 'problems' you mean these idiots from Interpol?"

"I'm afraid so, sir."

A soft sigh…

"And, of course, Langdale didn't do _anything_ to inform them about how _important_ this is. What was he doing? Cheating his wife again?"

"Sir, you're supposed to be on vacation…"

"Refugees, terrorists, Brexit…! How can I be on vacation, Anthea, when the whole world is on fire?!"

He sounded irritated… however Violet couldn't help but think that there was more to it than simple frustration. Often when she and Siger were watching news, she was scared by the sheer amount of tragedies happening in the world. Many times she was afraid what the future might hold for them, considering all the things threatening Great Britain. She knew that world is complicated. She knew that politics are complicated. She knew that there would always be people doing horrible things for power and that there will be always some kind of war somewhere on the globe. And it was frightening.

So if it was frightening to her, how Mycroft must have felt?

"Mummy, you can leave now. We will come down soon." Her son's still angry voice said to her.

"If you say so, Mycroft…" She said and directed towards the stairs.

 _You didn't even try to lift his burden…_

* * *

The dinner was rather quiet. Sherlock, Anthea and Mycroft weren't talking much, even though Siger and Violet tried from time to time to start a conversation on some light subject. Violet wondered if boys just didn't feel like talking (what sometimes was happening) or if they were still angry with their parents. Well, obviously Mycroft was trying not to look at her and only once spoke to her… but he was much nicer to his father, so maybe they somehow resolved their issues earlier. This silence was heavy and left a lot of room for Violet to think about. After some time certain idea started to form in her head…

Once the dinner was over, Violet shooed all three men to do something outside, and took the assistant to the kitchen. She told the girl to sit at table, because there was something she wished to talk about. But she didn't spoke to her immediately, oh no. For couple of minutes the mother of Holmes family was just washing the dishes, collecting her thoughts.

"Can I help you with this, Mrs. Holmes?" Anthea finally proposed, probably tired of silence.

"No, thank you, dear." Violet said, turning to her, and wiped her hands. "Tell me, Anthea," She began. "do you know any lullabies?"

Anthea raised her eyebrows, before she replied:

"Oh, I know few…"

"Which ones, for example?" Violet asked sitting in front of her.

"Well…" She rolled her eyes, trying to remember. " _Twinkle, twinkle, little star_ , _Hush, little baby_ …"

"How about _All The Pretty Little Horses_?" Violet prompted.

"Yes, that one too." Anthea smiled politely.

"We will come back to this. But first… Do you know, honey, who Cossacks were?"

The assistant blinked with surprise, probably not sure where her hostess was going with all those odd questions. Still, she decided to play along.

"A former population of Ukraine. Consisted mostly from Russians, but included also other ethnicities."

Violet smiled.

"One of my friends in Russia told me once about this old song, titled _Cossack Lullaby_. It starts normally, with a mother singing her infant son to sleep, talking about moon shinning over the cradle, child being sweet, running river… But somewhere around third verse it is mentioned that there's a brigand sharpening his dagger. With each new verse it's revealed that the boy is raised to become a warrior; and in the last segment the mother sings about her grown up son one day going out to battle; and about herself weeping bitter tears. She cries, because she knows that her son will face hardships in his life, maybe even die fighting. And she feels it's inevitable."

"That's… well, that's sad." Anthea said.

"Many lullabies are sad." Violet replied. "Well, they're supposed to make an infant sleepy with melancholic and peaceful tunes… but sometimes there's more to that. For example, there is a theory that _All The Pretty Little Horses_ originates from African American slaves and talks about a woman who has to take care of her master's baby… while her own is neglected."

Violet stopped and looked outside. Her sons were arguing over something, but it obviously couldn't be anything serious, because Siger was laughing. Her eyes returned to Anthea, who was observing her with interest.

"Maybe…" Violet began. "Maybe Mycroft should stay a child."

The assistant looked at her with surprise, before saying:

"You can't be serious, Mrs. Holmes."

"You're not a mother. Maybe someday you will be, but for now let me tell you one thing: There are times when parents wish their children to never grow up. It's because they want their babies to be happy and never experience hardships connected with adulthood."

 _You didn't even try to lift his burden…_

"You understand how big responsibility rests on my son's shoulders. You understand, Anthea, better than I will probably ever be able to understand. You know what I will never know. You've seen, what I will probably never see. Tell me: does he ever gets overwhelmed by his burden?"

Anthea was watching Violet for a moment, her eyes sympathetic, before she said:

"More often than he wishes to admit."

After these words, Violet wasn't saying anything for about ten seconds. Finally she went on in quiet voice:

"Now, let's be realistic, dear." Violet put her hands on Anthea's. "You and I both know that the third condition will never be met. My son has too much on his head, went through too much pain, so no matter what we do, he will never feel like all his burden has been lifted. Unless…" She straightened herself, smiling. "Unless he won't come back to work and stay a little boy."

"With all due respect, Mrs. Holmes" Anthea said with serious expression, and freed her hands from Violet's grip. "you don't know, what are you saying. Mycroft Holmes can and should have vacation… but he's irreplaceable. You can't possibly imagine how many catastrophes he prevented, how many lives he saved, how many threats he neutralized… He's an amazing man and many people share a view that Great Britain would fall without him."

"You don't know what are you saying, either. You're not a mother." Violet argued. "You will never understand my pain, until you will get children of your own."

"So this is about you now, Mrs. Holmes?" Anthea gave her a meaningful look.

Violet realized her mistake and corrected herself:

"No, no, of course not." She cleared her throat and continued: "What I'm trying to say is that Mycroft suffered greatly and…"

"Even if he will stay a child forever," The assistant cut in. "he will always go back to work. That's because he needs to be in control; he needs his mind to serve something or else he will go mad. He may not like leg work, but he's always busy and like it this way." She concluded with a smile.

As much as her words were supposed to show appreciation for Mycroft's sense of duty, Violet couldn't help but think there was another side of it.

 _I hate that nothing I ever do seems to be enough…_

 _Oh, you wouldn't believe what he's doing to keep this family together…_

 _How can I be on vacation, Anthea, when the whole world is on fire?!_

Maybe Mycroft so desperately wanted to be in control because he once was helpless to stop a disaster and he felt responsible. Maybe he carried whole world on his shoulders, because his childhood taught him he had to take the responsibility. Because if he won't, who will? His parents who never believed him? His brother who always caused trouble? His sister? No, he was the only one knowing all too well what the consequences could be. He was the eldest brother. He needed to have everything under his control. And when he was failing, his failings were catastrophic.

She never thought about him that way.

"Tell me, dear," She looked at Anthea again. "who is the most important man in the family?"

"Well, father of course." The assistant replied.

"And who is the _second_ most important man in the family?"

Anthea didn't respond right away. She was just observing carefully Violet for a couple of seconds, before she raised her chin and said in a quiet, but sure voice:

"The eldest son."

"And maybe that's the problem." Violet whispered.

"Will that be all, Mrs. Holmes?" The girl asked. "Is there anything else you wish to talk about?"

"Yes." Violet began and smiled to her. "I'm glad my son has you, Anthea."

The door to the outside has been opened and all three Holmes men came into the house. Soon Mycroft exchanged few last words with Anthea and the assistant left their household to provide the report to whoever Lady Smallwood was.

* * *

It was three pm and Violet couldn't sleep. With all the things that happened lately, she was astonished that Siger was sleeping so soundly, because her mind kept spinning around cherubs, secrets and de-aged sons with traumas. So she did a sensible thing and she moved to the living room. At first she was going to watch telly, but then she felt an urge to do something a little bit different.

A moment later she was sitting in the armchair, browsing through the family photo album. She was mostly looking at pictures with Mycroft. She started from the one taken an hour after he was born – a small, wrinkled, red thing. Her first baby, the first one she was eagerly waiting to come. After him, everything changed. The marriage dynamics, her priorities and her way of thinking. She and Siger had to get used to certain schedule and certain inconveniences. But it was worth it.

Then there were other pictures – Mycroft's birthdays, days at park, picnics, Mycroft's first day of school, Sherlock's birth, Eurus' birth, family ceremonies, graduations, Christmases… One could observe like little bundle from his first day on Earth becomes a rather serious looking adult man, the member of MI6 and British government. Of course it were all the small stages in between which were the most interesting. The fact that he was first a boy, then a bit overweight teenager, then an awkward adolescent, and finally a young man in three-piece suit. Violet was browsing through these photos, watching carefully each and every one is search of some kind of hidden sadness; some kind of indication that Mycroft was slowly getting more distanced and guarded. And in fact, she was finding it – his gestures, his expressions, his posture… Sometimes more visible, sometimes more subtle. But after Eurus' "death" there was always something.

He never liked people. He liked to be left alone, with his books and experiments, and peace and quiet. That's why he was hardly coming home for Christmas and treated spending time with his family as a chore. He was never good with emotions, he despised sentiment as a feeble and useless thing. But it didn't mean he had no feelings at all; and that one of those feelings wasn't loneliness…

Suddenly Violet heard the sound of someone's steps on the wooden floor. She raised her head and immediately saw Mycroft passing the hall to get to the kitchen. She put the photo album on the coffee table, stood up and went after him.

She found him in the complete darkness, trying to reach the tap on the kitchen sink and get some water. But he was too short, so his attempts were to no avail. Just when he was going to mumble few curses under his breath, Violet decided to turn on the light switch and announce her presence. His reaction was an immediate stop and slow turn in her direction.

"Hello, Mummy." He said coldly, giving her annoyed look.

"Why aren't you sleeping, Myc?"

He dropped his gaze and his face changed suddenly into uncomfortable, almost disturbed. And Violet knew. He had a nightmare. Nightmare about Sherrinford.

But it was only for a moment, because he immediately regained composure and said with annoyed expression:

"For the last time, Mummy, my name is Mycroft. Not 'Myc', not 'Mycie', _Mycroft_. It's the name you gave me."

"If you insist, honey…" She replied, smiling at him.

Then she took the glass he was holding, put it on the counter, drew out the bottle of mineral water and poured it into the glass. Then she gave it back to Mycroft, who accepted it with still annoyed expression.

"Yes, thank you, but I could do it myself."

"Not with this small body of yours." Violet replied.

"Oh, I'm small? I didn't notice. Thank you, Mummy, for pointing this out. My small brain would never comprehend it."

And then he directed back to the hall. Violet – to his irritation – followed him and didn't stop, until they were in his bedroom. Once he put the glass of water on his nightstand, next to his book on Pol Pot, he turned to his mother and said:

"I assure you that, in spite of my current appearance, I'm fully capable of going to sleep on my own. I do not require to be tackled to sleep, to be read a bedtime story or to be sung a lullaby. So, please, leave my room, Mummy."

Violet was observing him for a moment. She could easy sense he was still angry at her. For what exactly – her words in cabinet, or her words from the previous day – she wasn't sure, but he was very much mad with her.

"If you ever _require_ something," She started, turning to leave. "just tell me."

And with that being said, she left the room, carefully closed the door and leaned on it. She gave a soft sigh. In the darkness of the night, she thought about little boy behind that door. Maybe he really did hate her. Maybe he will never forgive her.

She started to walk down the stairs, when the memory brought to her mind a short verse from a lullaby. She would hum it, but she didn't want to disturb her son's sleep. So she just repeated it in her head:

 _Way down yonder_

 _In the meadow_

 _Poor little baby crying momma_

 _The birds and the butterflies_

 _Flutter 'round his eye_

 _Scares the poor little baby crying momma._


	9. Diogenes Attic

**Ladies and gentlemen, I present you: Mycroft's Mind Palace! I also have a game for you! Try to guess what part of Mycroft's mind is represented by each person appearing in his head. And tell me in the comments!**

 **Special thanks goe to TheTolkienGirl for helping me figure out few things about Mycroft's Mind Palace!**

 **Diogenes Attic**

Sherlock had heard the short conversation between his brother and his mother at three am. It gave him some more things to think about after such a long, eventful day. From the state of things on dinner, he deduced that Daddy already apologized sincerely, but Mummy was postponing her apologies for some reason… Or maybe the tirade from the afternoon was a bitter reminder of Mummy's rant from that fateful day from four (five?) weeks ago. Maybe Mycroft decided to throw an epic temper tantrum for the way he was treated back then; for being called "idiot" and "limited".

Funny, how earlier he was so reluctant to tell their parents about Sherrinford to not hurt their feelings, but he initiated the reveal, after all, with his sudden outburst. Seeing him crying was hard to watch, and he certainly didn't mean to say that he hates Mummy and Daddy. It started like a tantrum of angry child, but it was obviously something more than that. It was a moment when Sherlock's big brother voiced his feelings, not in a sarcastic remarks like last Christmas, but in a honest way. In three sentences he told them what pained him. At that moment Sherlock was proud of him… but also felt an urge to give him a hug.

On the other hand, why didn't Mummy apologize to Mycroft already? Did she feel like she didn't need to? She was talking about something with Anthea. They had only one thing in common, so the number of topics was rather narrow. It was almost given that their conversation covered (at least to some degree) Mycroft's current form. When he, Sherlock and Daddy came back, Mummy looked solemn. And earlier, during the dinner, she had the same look, when she occasionally gazed at the little boy that was now her eldest offspring. Sherlock thought about it, wondering if what he said to her earlier made her realize some things.

Either way, once he woke up the next morning, he came out of his room and knocked to his brother's door to check on him. But when he didn't hear any response for about ten seconds, he came to realization that Mycroft wasn't there. The detective raised his eyebrow and decided to look for brother dear downstairs. There was no Mycroft in the kitchen and in living room. His jacket was also absent, so Sherlock – knowing his older sibling's habits – sighed deeply.

Oh, this will be a sight to see, and part of Sherlock thought it will be hilarious, but the other part – the one, that was reminding him he was supposed to be responsible now – prepared for the incoming battle.

And so Sherlock took his coat off the hook, put it on and entered the garden. And sure, half of his predictions turned out to be true.

Here he was – a five year old boy sitting on the bench, but – to detective's relief – there was no cigarette in his hand (yet). Mycroft was only observing the view in front of him, deep in thought.

"You shouldn't be there." Sherlock said. "You will catch a cold."

Mycroft gazed at his little brother, but didn't say anything. Sherlock took a liberty of sitting next to him. He glanced at the boy once again to make few quick deductions, before he spoke again:

"Don't worry. I'll convince her to apologize."

"Even if you do," Mycroft turned his gaze at him. "I will stay a child forever."

"Ah, the third condition…" Sherlock stated. Mycroft only nodded.

Sherlock spent many hours thinking about possible ways to make Mycroft feel like his burden has been lifted. There was no denying here – his brother's burden was enormous. All those secrets, all this responsibility of Great Britain's safety, all those threats he had to keep an eye on… Not to mention, all the pain he went through and all the emotional baggage he was carrying ever since his teen years. Most of the time, Sherlock felt that there was too much things to handle. Thankfully Lady Smallwood was all for giving Mycroft vacation and lifting at least some of his burden connected with work. And John was trying to reassure the elder Holmes brother that he was in good hands. And Sherlock… Sherlock was doing everything he could. But all of this seemed to not be enough.

"You know, I was thinking…" He started, looking at Mycroft. "Maybe when this whole thing will be over, you should see a therapist." His brother gazed at him with raised eyebrow, so Sherlock added: "You know, to talk about Sherrinford and Eurus."

Mycroft turned his eyes back at the view in front of him.

"It would be a waste of time."

"You went through traumatic experience at young age. You deal with a lot of pressure at work and few weeks ago your own brother was pointing gun at you. Even _you_ can't be okay after all of this."

"And obviously therapy worked wonders for Doctor Watson…" Mycroft chuckled cheerlessly.

"Well, he did start a blog, didn't he?" Sherlock smiled, but then went back to being serious: "You need professional help."

"The last thing I need is to talk with some glorified hippie about my feelings and childhood. They will probably say nothing I don't know already."

"And did you even try?"

"Look, I'm not going on therapy, Sherlock." Mycroft cut in harshly. "I can deal with my demons on my own."

Sherlock looked at him with concern. Yes, he sounded as sure of himself as ever, but the detective knew him too well. He knew Mycroft's mask of a stern politician, always in control; and he knew when his brother was overwhelmed by too much things happening too fast. That was when he smoked; that was when he was starting to act defensive; that was when he was sitting in solitude.

"The thing is," Sherlock began. "you don't need to deal with them on your own." He smiled.

Mycroft sighed.

"For the last time, Sherlock: I'm not lonely."

Sherlock wanted to reply: "Oh, but you are, brother dear…", however, he didn't say anything. He was just sitting next to Mycroft and observing him. He didn't know how long his brother was outside this morning, but it was obvious, he was cold, because he rubbed his hands absent-mindly. He came here for peace and quiet. He wanted to think about all the things that was happening around him. His mind was working the most efficiently, when he was sure nobody will bother him with unnecessary questions… but at the same time he will be provided with snacks and, occasionally, alcohol. He needed Diogenes Club with its soothing atmosphere and people who understood the importance of silence. He even said once that it was where he was visiting his Mind Palace the most.

Sherlock grinned. He got an idea.

"Come on," He stood up and extended his hands towards Mycroft. "I know a better place for you to mope."

"I'm not moping." Mycroft protested.

"Just…" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Just come with me."

After a short moment of not moving at all, the boy sighed, took Sherlock's hand and stood up. His brother first let him inside the house, then they both took off their outwears and when Sherlock put Mycroft's jacket on the hook, he led him upstairs. They passed their rooms and directed to the ceiling entrance to the attic. Sherlock opened it and soon both brothers found themselves in the place full of boxes, old furniture and dust.

"Okay, Sherlock." Mycroft looked at him. "What are we doing here?"

"One moment, brother mine." The detective raised his finger, before he took a deck chair, unfolded it and turned back to Mycroft. " _Voila_! Diogenes Attic!"

"Diogenes Attic?" The boy asked, raising his eyebrow.

"A peaceful place for you to meditate. Even if Mummy and Daddy will be their usual selves, they won't disturb you, because barely any sound from downstairs can reach the attic. So sit here, relax and go to your Mind Palace."

"What if Mummy will want something? Or if I will get hungry?"

"I will tell our parents, you can't be disturbed. And I will stay near so if you would need anything, just give me a sign."

Mycroft was watching Sherlock with light confusion, before his face lightened with a small smile.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

Then he sat comfortably in the deck chair, while the detective retreated to the first floor and slowly closed the entrance. Only when Sherlock disappeared, Mycroft closed his eyes, relaxed and entered his Mind Palace.

* * *

 _He was still in the attic, but he was an adult again. And he had company._

 _His mother was standing at the study that wasn't there before (it certainly belonged to her old cabinet in Musgrave Hall, with all the books and papers scattered around)._

" _I still can't believe this is happening…" She sighed._

" _Ah, but we already established that this is reality," Mycroft replied. "so what else is there to do than find a way to reverse it?"_

" _Right." Sherlock appeared on his left, sitting on his armchair from Baker Street, wearing his night gown. "You can't stay in that shape for too long… You have work to do, so you need to think about the solution."_

" _Look," Mrs. Holmes started. "even if Mummy will apologize – which she won't, because Mummies are stubborn – you know that there is still a problem of third condition."_

" _The third condition…" Mycroft repeated to himself. "My burdens…"_

" _Yes, your burdens." Sherlock said, but this time it was his younger self and he was holding a small globe. "You have important work to do."_

" _You will do as we discussed." Lady Smallwood appeared next to Sherlock and she was sitting on her chair in a way revealing authority. "We will keep an eye on the buffoon in the White House and monitor the refuges. And, of course, there is the problem with diplomacy. That one is far more tricky."_

 _Mycroft smiled._

" _Yes, it is." He sighed._

" _No, no, can't you see, honey?" Mummy cut in. "You can't think about it. The more you think about your work, the more stressed you are. And we can't have that."_

" _But you can't wait, am I right, sir?" Anthea kneeled at his deck chair and grinned to him sympathetically. "You already miss your desk. Sure, the work is hard and sometimes frustrating, but you like it. You're always feeling like you're a right man in the right place."_

" _Well, sometimes I am." Mycroft replied, still smiling._

" _We should check on Putin." Lady Smallwood added. "You can't be too careful with Putin."_

" _Oh, definitely." Mycroft nodded. "And Saudi Arabia…"_

" _Stop it!" Mummy hit her study, turning everyone's attention on herself. "Focus on the task at hand! What have I told you about politics in this house?"_

" _You didn't come up with the 'no politics' rule. It was the real Mummy's idea." Mycroft pointed out._

" _Either way, focus!" Violet Holmes came around, so her study wouldn't separate her from son. "What did cherub said?"_

 _Mycroft moved his eyes on Herbert, who stood right in front of him. The cherub repeated:_

" _Mycroft Holmes deserves a break. He deserves to be released from his responsibilities once in a while. So I figured out that the best way to go with it will be turning him into a carefree child…"_

" _Everyone keep saying that I'm a child…" Mycroft started._

" _You are a child." The cherub repeated. "Therefore Great Britain isn't your responsibility. Neither is the safety of your siblings, nor the happiness of your parents…" And with that he disappeared._

" _But it IS your responsibility." A grown up again Sherlock pointed out. "Only you can keep them safe…"_

" _Oh, and he did such a good job, didn't he?" A mocking voice came from behind._

 _Mycroft slowly turned back. There she was, in her hospital gown, with long hair and smile that was always creeping him out. Suddenly the attic drowned in red light and for a moment he was standing in that cell in Sherrinford._

" _No!" He protested. "Get out of my head, Eurus!"_

" _You think, you can rid off of me that easily, big brother?" She asked, taking two steps forward. "Don't kid yourself, I'm always in your head."_

" _You won't torment me!" He screamed and for a moment he felt like a thirteen year old boy again. "I won't let you torment me ever again!"_

" _Oh, what's that?" She took another two steps. "You're going to cry?"_

" _Focus!" Mummy yelled, hitting the study again, this time louder. "You idiot boy, focus!"_

 _He was back in the attic with everyone, but Eurus remained._

" _Now," Mrs. Holmes calmed down. "it's obvious you can't think about work."_

" _Good, I can do that." Mycroft replied. "I won't be watching news."_

" _That's not enough." A new voice spoke._

 _Mycroft rolled his eyes with annoyance and turned them on his father, who was standing next to Mummy, leaning on her study and smiling to his son warmly. After moment of silence he added:_

" _You need to get lost in the moment, son."_

" _Great, I only needed YOU here." He growled._

" _You may resent me, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm as much part of you as she." Still smiling, Siger Holmes pointed Mummy with his eyes. "You even let me lead once or twice."_

" _Yes, and it ended with a disaster." Mycroft argued. "Every time."_

" _Oh, come on," Daddy went on. "without me you would go insane."_

" _I doubt that." Mycroft snarled._

" _You know, there is this song…" Mr. Holmes put his finger up and suddenly a music started to play from somewhere in the air:_

All you need is love,

all you need is love,

all you need is love, love.

Love is all you need.

" _Get this stupid song out of my head!" Mycroft barked and even covered his ears._

 _Daddy's smile weakened. He straightened himself and walked to his son, before he kneeled in front of him and with sad expression, said:_

" _You are not alone. You have people who care about you…"_

" _Oh, please!" Eurus sneered. "Mummy called him an idiot! And Sherlock wanted to shoot him!"_

" _Sherlock cares." Siger replied and looked at Mycroft. "Don't you remember how safe you've felt when Sherlock carried you to bed? Or how nice it was that he bought you a chocolate cake? He promised to turn you back to normal. I don't know how about you, but I think that the first condition has been already met." He touched Mycroft's cheek. "Alicia respects you, Anthea checks on you… And your parents… Your father admitted that he was scared about you…"_

" _But Mummy doesn't care!" Eurus cut in, still mocking. "He's a disappointment and an idiot. He couldn't even save stupid kid from drowning!"_

" _Shut up!" Mycroft screamed at her, teenager again._

" _And the overdoses…" Sherlock added. "How many brother dear had already? Three? There shouldn't even be one…"_

" _Don't take her side!" Mycroft yelled at him._

"All you need is love. _" Siger sung out of nowhere._

 _Suddenly there was too much noise. Everyone started to talk at once._

" _And Korea… We definitely need to keep an eye on Korea…"_

" _Poor, baby Mycroft… You would be better off dead…"_

" _Brother mine, Mummy and Daddy said you need to look after me…"_

"All you need is love… _"_

" _What do we do with the file on Mummy, sir?"_

" _Your failures are of truly epic proportions, big brother…"_

"All you need is loooove… _"_

" _Ignore them!" Mummy called._

" _Trump, Brexit, terrorist cells…"_

" _Focus, honey!" Violet shouted. "Ignore the noise!"_

" _I'm trying!" Mycroft replied, covering his ears._

" _Focus!"_

 _Yes, he had to focus. He had to get rid off of the unnecessary thoughts and focus on the important things. And so Mycroft took a deep breath and raised his hand. Next he pointed it at Eurus._

" _The real Eurus isn't here. I left her on Sherrinford. Be gone." He waved his hand and his sister disappeared. Next he turned to his brother. "The real Sherlock is downstairs and keeps anyone from disturbing me." One wave, no Sherlock. Mycroft turned to Lady Smallwood. "I appreciate your presence, but the real Alicia is in her cabinet." One wave and she was gone too. "Anthea, we see each other in about week." He said with a smile and waved at the girl._

 _Now there was only him and his parents. He pointed his hand at Siger but didn't wave it. For some strange reason he was hesitant._

" _What are you waiting for?" Mummy called to him. "Hurry up, we have things to discuss!"_

 _But Mycroft was staring at his father, who smiled to him warmly. The warmth was tempting… so tempting to get lost in it… The warmth was honey in tea, it was Mummy's pie, it was the way Sherlock teased him. It was the thing Mycroft loved and hated the most at the same time. The greatest obstacle and the sweetest escape…_

" _You can't let him talk." Mummy said. "You need a cool head."_

 _Mycroft looked at Daddy again and after a short moment finally waved his hand… banishing his mother from his head. Still looking at Siger, he spoke:_

" _This better be good."_

 _His father's smile grew even wider._

"Love is all you need. _" He whispered._

" _You know, in spite of popular opinion, you can't fix everything with love." Mycroft said._

" _But it certainly helps at times." Siger replied, still smiling._

 _Mycroft shook his head and opened his eyes…_


	10. The second condition

**I know I said there will be only ten chapters, but I came to conclusion that I need at least one-two more to wrap this thing up. Especially because there are ideas I was thinking about using, but I don't know where to put them.**

 **Either way, here's a second chapter where I was crying while writting it.**

 **As always, comments would be great appreciated. The last two times I was bummed (especially because I was working hard on Mind Palace scene).**

 **The second condition**

Mycroft knocked on the attic entrance and soon Sherlock opened it. He used sign language to ask if his brother wanted anything (just like Diogenes Club employees would ask), but Mycroft surprised him by speaking out loud:

"I think I've had enough thinking. Let's eat something."

Sherlock only raised his eyebrow. Then turned back and started to ascend from the stairs. Mycroft proceeded right behind him.

* * *

Violet was in the kitchen preparing the table for breakfast. Apparently all the men in the family were still asleep, because the house was really quiet. As she was putting down the dishes and utensils, butter and bread, cheese and ham, her mind kept wandering around the problem at hand. She had a plan, she was going to stick to it, for her child's sake… Yes, it was a good plan.

"Just _what_ do you think you're doing?" A sudden voice in the silence of the house startled her.

She turned back and saw familiar cherub sitting on the counter. But this time he wasn't smiling. His expression was very serious.

"Young man," She started. "don't sneak on people like that!"

"Don't be mistaken, Mrs. Holmes, this isn't a do-over." He said, still serious.

Violet was staring at him. It took her three seconds to realize what he was talking about. She put the plate of chopped tomatoes on the table and prepared to defend herself:

"You and I agree that Mycroft has too much on his head. If you really wish my son to feel free from his burdens, then you understand that he should stay a child. Isn't this the reason you turned him into one in the first place?"

"No." Herbert crossed his legs. "I did it to change few people's perspective on things. I managed to change yours, but apparently you came to a stupid conclusion."

"He has a work that's stressing him out." Violet replied with a solemn expression. "As a little boy, he wouldn't have to worry about the problems of this world."

"So instead of apologizing for your errors and helping him through his trauma, you plan to raise him again? Even though we both know he's annoyed by his current predicament?"

"I can't reverse what was done to him and his siblings." Violet said. "I wish I could turn back in time and prevent all the tragedies that fell on all three of my children. I can't bring Victor to life for Sherlock, I can't cure Eurus, I can't make Mycroft forget about what happened in Sherrinford. But you gave me an opportunity to start again. This time Myc will have a happy childhood. He won't grow up too soon, as he did the first time. Sure, he won't like it, but I can deal with him hating me for that."

Herbert looked at her with a sad smile, before he replied:

"You know, Mrs. Holmes, that I admire your son. I could sit here all day and tell you how cool he is or how much of a badass he can be." Cherub's smile weakened. "But there is one thing I find really, really annoying about him."

"And what is that?" Violet gave him a look of mild curiosity.

"It's the way he perceives kindness." Herbert went on. "He's either purposely cruel or lies to spare his loved ones a heartache. Certainly you noticed, Mrs. Holmes?" Still sitting, the cherub leaned his head towards her.

Violet raised her eyebrows in surprise.

 _I was trying to be kind…_

"I mean, I get it." Herbert continued casually. "White lies, tough choices and whatnot… Plus, he lives in a world where revealed secrets may be dangerous to national security. His mind is fixated on doing everything to avoid crises and do as less damage as possible. Even when it comes to his own family." The cherub added with seriousness expression.

Violet remembered what Sherlock told her and Siger – that Mycroft was saying horrible, hurtful things to make it easier for his brother to shoot him. Mycroft was manipulating Sherlock to kill him, instead of his best friend.

And the lies… Now, when she knew what Mycroft went through, she understood his motives. He wanted his family to be happy, to go on with their lives after tragedies that fell upon them. He did wrong, but he did it for the good reasons.

Who knows how many times he was cruel just to be kind…

"There is a reason I've established the second condition." Herbert said and Violet looked at him. "In fact, the third condition can't be fulfilled until the first two are fulfilled. So, please, talk to your son, like a normal parent would do."

Violet was silent for a moment, contemplating his words, but then she heard someone's steps on the stairs. Soon she saw her two sons in the hall. Once they reached the end of stairs and looked into the kitchen, Mycroft hurried inside, saying:

"Oh, it's good you're here, Herbert. I would like to negotiate."

Violet looked at the cherub, surprised that he was still there.

"What would you like to negotiate, Mr. Holmes?" He asked and jumped off the counter, while Mycroft entered the kitchen.

The boy didn't reply at first. He only looked at his mother suspiciously, before he came back to Herbert.

"The second and third condition." He finally said. "But maybe we should move to someplace else."

"I think that this is as good place for negotiations as anywhere else." The cherub answered and looked at Violet. "I'm sure Mrs. Holmes also would like to take part in talks. Am I right, Mrs. Holmes?"

The woman gazed at Mycroft, who observed her intensively, probably expecting his mother to disagree. But she knew what Herbert wanted to accomplish by inviting her.

"Yes, I want to negotiate too." She finally said. "Come, boys, take a sit and eat something."

"I never eat when I'm negotiating, Mummy." Mycroft pointed out.

"Really?" Sherlock asked. "Not even on dinners and banquets?"

"Maybe sometimes, but most of the time the negotiations are held in board rooms or secluded areas."

"Still," Violet replied. "I would like to be here and have something to say."

"Of course, you do." Mycroft said, rolling his eyes with annoyance. "Should we also ask Daddy to sit with us?"

"If you think it's important for him to be there…" Violet answered.

"I would much rather not have all my family here. Besides, let Dad sleep."

"I agree." Herbert drew out one of the chairs and sat at the kitchen table. "Let's talk."

Mycroft, Sherlock and Violet sat down too. There was a short moment of silence as four of them were looking at each other. Violet observed her eldest son, a bit nervous about what was going to happen. She still believed that her plan was good. She wished nothing more than for her son to be happy. And was there a happier period of time than childhood? Why she shouldn't use this wonderful miracle that happened to Mycroft, to improve his life?

But some part of her wasn't sure about this plan. Some part of her thought that maybe, just maybe she was unreasonable… or selfish, to some extent.

"So," Herbert began. "what do you propose, Mr. Holmes?"

Mycroft was silent for a moment, before he gazed at the cherub and said:

"I'm afraid that conditions second and third can't be met."

"Really?" Herbert asked, crossing his arms. "How so?"

"Well, first of all…" Mycroft started, but immediately cut to glance at his mother.

For the first time since the previous day he didn't seem annoyed or angry at her. He was more… lost. It was obvious he wasn't comfortable with her being here and listening to what he was going to say. Violet knew why.

But then he cleared his throat and straightened himself on the chair.

"First of all, I was thinking really long about it and I came to conclusion that third condition can't be met. My brother," Mycroft pointed Sherlock with open hand. "also shares this opinion. Not to mention," He turned to Violet. "my mother."

"That is why she doesn't want to apologize." Sherlock stated. "She thinks it would be better if Mycroft was still a child."

"So you two figured it out?" She said, smiling lightly.

"Oh, _please_ ," Mycroft rolled his eyes. "it's obvious."

"Anthea told him." Sherlock added and immediately received angry glare from his brother. However Mycroft quickly regained his composure.

"Well, yes. But I suspected that this silly idea might come to Mummy's head long before both of them decided to talk. After all, which parent wouldn't want a second chance?" He looked at Violet meaningfully and she felt a little prickle of shame.

She gazed at him too. She wondered if her plan was the reason behind this animosity of Mycroft's… No, no, it was more than that. She knew it, obviously. After all, he said it himself…

 _Mummy, Daddy, I hate you…_

"Just apologize, Mummy." Sherlock said, bringing her back to reality.

"Forget it, brother mine." Mycroft replied. "You know that these apologies won't be sincere."

Another prickle.

"And how do you know, Mr. Holmes?" Herbert asked.

Mycroft looked at the floor, before he gazed at the cherub again. This time his expression was somewhat poignant.

"Well, first and foremost, this would be an apology under pressure. I mean, the first instinct would be to say sorry just so I would go back to being an adult. After all, I often say that my work is important, so Mummy would feel obliged to apologize but not necessary mean it."

"Oh, but you said it yourself, Mr. Holmes, that your mother doesn't want you to grow up." Herbert pointed out.

"And here's another reason why her apologies might be insincere. She may say: 'I'm sorry, Mycroft.', but she would still hold to her original plan, because she believes it would be a right choice. And besides, she has nothing to feel sorry for."

 _Another_ prickle.

"Mycroft…" Violet began, but he raised his hand and said:

"Mummy, just… don't." He looked at Herbert. "My father already apologized to me and I have every reason to believe that he was sincere. Therefore I would like to negotiate a little change regarding the second condition, mainly that only one parent's apology should suffice."

"Once again, I need to ask, Mr. Holmes," Herbert started. "why do you think that your mother won't apologize to your sincerely?"

"And why would she?" Mycroft's response was quiet, but hearable. "Why would she ever feel any remorse for what she said or did to me?"

Strangely enough, Violet felt a hot sensation in the chest. Was it shame? Sadness? Pity? All of those emotions combined?

"Myc, honey…" She tried again.

"My name is _Mycroft_." He cut Violet off harshly and looked at her with annoyance. "I'm not 'Myc' and certainly I'm not 'honey'."

"These are just terms of endearment." His mother pointed out.

"Oh, I'm sure they are." Mycroft leaned on the chair. "Just like 'idiot boy' is."

Violet felt how her eyes started to well up.

"No, you're right, Mycroft." She said quietly. "I shouldn't call you that. You're not an idiot. Not in a slightest."

"Well, well, well." Sherlock smirked. "Is this a progress?"

Mrs. Holmes took a deep breath.

"As for the 'Mycs' and 'honeys'," She began. "I'm calling you that because you're my baby boy. Not just now, but always. And I know, you hate sentiment, but I want you to know that I love you very, very much."

A moment of silence as Mycroft looked at her with expression of mild surprise. For couple of seconds he was observing her. In the meantime Herbert smiled lightly, while Sherlock gazed first at his brother and then at his mother with a look of interest. Violet considered it a good start, so she went on:

"Look, Mycroft, what happened to you, Sherlock and John in Sherrinford was horrible. Neither one of you should be put in situation like that. Sherlock shouldn't be forced to choose between you and his best friend, and you shouldn't be forced to sacrifice yourself…"

"Mummy, stop." Mycroft whispered, closing his eyes.

"You also shouldn't be forced to keep big secrets from your own family, and really I don't know what Uncle Rudy was thinking…"

To be fair, she had some idea. Mycroft would probably figure that something was up either way, besides, he proved to be relatively immune to Eurus' manipulations, so it would be good if Rudy had ally like that. Still, Violet thought that her brother had a lot to answer for.

Back in the present, Mycroft still wasn't looking at his mother.

"I've had a lot to think about since yesterday." She continued. "I could look back at certain events and see them in different light. Back in your office I said few harsh words." This seemed to caught Mycroft's attention, because he finally gazed at her. "I was enraged and I wasn't aware of certain things. So I didn't put into consideration few factors. Now when I know the truth, I understand the reasoning behind your actions." She gave a soft sigh. "And if I could go back in time, I would say different things to you. I would still want to see Eurus, but I wouldn't be yelling at you after one of the worst days in your life."

It's funny, because once she said all of this, "I'm sorry" seemed to be a natural way to end this. But the thing was, she was far from finish.

Violet stood up from her seat and approached Mycroft. She kneeled beside him and looked into his eyes. He was looking at her too, with mixture of bewilderment and melancholy.

"Mycroft, honey, you're my child and my duty as a mother is to keep you straight." She took his small hand and squeezed it. "But sometimes I get carried away and forget that you're trying really hard to make everything right. Even if things are beyond your control."

She raised her hand and started to caress his cheek. For a moment they were just staring at each other in silence. Violet felt how her heart was beating slowly as she remembered the sword in the umbrella. The same umbrella Mycroft was often bringing to their house, even if weather broadcast didn't mention any rain, hail or snow. It was such a silly thing. Something straight out of some spy flick… but for some reason he was always carrying it around. Was it to fight off enemies? Was it something to occupy his busy hands? Was it part of his style?

She imagined him walking down some corridor in Parliament… the enigmatic figure with his umbrella, bringing to mind old times. An intriguing fellow who kept an eye on international threats. Always in control, always on guard. And probably hardly anyone knew what she knew – that this walking mystery had annoying little brother; that he liked to play Operation and that he hated musicals with burning passion. She also was one of the few people who knew that the man under the codename Antarctica was forced to grow up too soon and, in spite of his statements about sentiment, there were so many things he deeply cared about…

Violet felt how two streams went down her cheeks.

"Oh, silly, silly me. "She whispered, smiling through tears. "How could I not notice? It was right before my very eyes…"

"What you didn't notice?" Mycroft asked, also whispering.

"That my son is such an amazing man." She replied.

For the first time since a really long time, Violet could see something akin of a smile on Mycroft's face. A little flicker of content that disappeared as soon as it appeared. Sherlock and Hubert grinned too. She herself stopped smiling and let another tears ran down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry." She said quietly still holding his cheek. "I'm so, so sorry…"

For a moment they were just looking at each other, not wanting to ruin it. They only smiled to each other. But then Mycroft's smile weakened and he spoke:

"Mummy… I didn't mean it when I said I hate you and Daddy. I was just angry."

"Oh, don't worry, honey. Every child at some point tells their parents that they hate them." She replied, wiping her eyes, and decided to finally stand up for the sake of her old knees.

"And thus the second condition has been met." Herbert said with a grin, turning everyone's attention to himself.

Then Sherlock and Mycroft looked at each other, raising their eyebrows.

"I guess, it has been." The detective pointed out.

"Don't worry about the third one." The cherub sent them another reassuring smile, standing up and flying above the counter. "I'm sure you will fulfill it soon. See ya 'til then."

"Wait a minute." Mycroft called after him. "What about our negotiations?"

"No offence, Mr. Holmes," Herbert started. "but there's nothing you can offer me in exchange."

"And how do you know?" The boy asked. "Maybe I have something interesting."

"I wouldn't take it either way." His interlocutor replied. "Just have fun, Mr. Holmes. Didn't you visit your Mind Palace lately? I'm sure you already have an answer for your problems."

And before Mycroft could respond in any way to that statement, the cherub disappeared.

"What a lack of manners!" The boy complained.

* * *

The Holmes brothers were supposed to come only for a weekend, therefore they just ate breakfast and around one pm prepared for the ride home. The atmosphere in the house was cleared. They could talk with each other normally, even though, Mycroft didn't feel like talking. However, he did feel lighter. The house of their parents seemed to be more welcoming and friendly, since Mummy and Daddy seemed to be that way towards him. He was almost sad that he couldn't stay longer…

But alas Sherlock needed to go back to Baker Street and Mycroft was aware that day or two more in their parents' cottage would remind him how much he hated family weekends.

When Mycroft and Sherlock were saying their goodbyes, Mummy kissed them on the cheeks, while Daddy gave each of his sons tight hug.

"And remember, boys." Siger started, smiling. "You're always welcome here."

"Especially you, Mycroft." Violet said to him with her strict voice. "God knows, you barely visit us."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but he only faked irritation. He could easily read between the lines. After all, Mummy's strictness also sounded fake.

"We will remember." Sherlock replied and took the baggage. "Now let's go, before the traffic gets worse."

They both turned their backs and started to walk towards the car. Soon they were on their way to London. It was only half an hour later when Mycroft found in the right pocket of his jacket a note, written neatly by Mrs. Holmes:

 _Be nice to other children._

 _Love you, Mummy._

Mycroft rolled his eyes, but didn't throw the note away.


	11. All you need is love

**This chapter happened because I thought that we need a dialogue between Mycroft and John. Especially because I didn't stumble upon a fic giving insight on Mycroft's sacrifice from John's point of view. And it would be interesting to look at how doctor himself thinks about a man who tried to die for him.**

 **Anyway, reviews would be nice (as always).**

 **Also my faithful reviewer G said: _Well done Herbert, you did good._ , and he would like to say: _I live to deliver._**

 **All you need is love**

The whole ordeal with de-aged Mycroft got John Watson thinking about the man. He reflected on various encounters with Sherlock's older brother; about these few conversations they shared; about the impressions Mycroft was giving each and every time; and about the fact that they recently went through hell together.

John still remembered this cruel rant when Eurus wanted Sherlock to choose… This endless stream of hurtful words directed first at John, and then at Sherlock. In that very moment he both hated Mycroft, and agreed on what he was saying on doctor's own worth. After all, who was he in comparison to British Government incarnate? Just an ordinary army physician, no one with remarkable intellect nor very important to the safety of Great Britain. He was a soldier and soldiers were supposed to be ready to die on duty. And really, it was all such a Mycroft thing… no nonsense, just pure, cold calculation. One of the reasons John never liked Sherlock's older brother and thought he had bad influence on the detective. Then, when Sherlock didn't want to shoot his best friend, Mycroft started to berate his little brother.

And then…

 _Ignore everything he just said. He's trying to make it easy for me to kill him._

Mycroft was going to sacrifice himself that day, and for John Watson no less! But the doctor knew it wasn't a sacrifice for his sake. After all, with Mycroft it was always about Sherlock.

Still, seeing it, John Watson felt it was wrong… So, so wrong… Sherlock was about to do a horrible thing, and no matter what John thought about Mycroft, no matter what Mycroft did or said in the past, he was still Sherlock's _brother_.

And right now this brother of Sherlock's was a little boy again, because some cherub decided he deserved a break. Herbert's words were spinning in doctor's head… And maybe it was the fact that Mycroft was a child now, therefore far more fragile and far less powerful, but John couldn't help but feel weirdly protective of him. Of course, they had to bring him back to normal (it must have been really frustrating for someone like him to be in this weak form), however, John thought that maybe this whole situation was a good thing.

Nevertheless, John Watson was preoccupied by his own baby and work, so he barely visited Baker Street after Mycroft became a temporary resident there. Well, the doctor was calling from time to time to check on the situation, but most of the time he had a feeling that Sherlock much rather preferred to take care of his brother on his own. Like, even though he lately said he considered John a family, he felt an obligation to be his brother's main caretaker. Well, it had some sense, considering what the first condition was… Still, John decided that after Holmes brothers' weekend on the countryside, he will visit Baker Street.

And so this Monday afternoon he left Rosie with neighbors (he didn't want to bother Molly) and went to his former flat. He was instantly greeted with Mrs. Hudson, who seemed to be as nice to "Mike" as the doctor saw her last time. John was informed by the landlady that he should be quiet, because "Mike" is napping after long day in the park. John was surprised that Mycroft even _wanted_ to go to park, considering his laziness, but maybe Sherlock forced him to go.

Either way, John followed Mrs. Hudson upstairs and soon met with his best friend in the living room. Sherlock was sitting in his usual place, staring at the wall before him. John knew this look, Sherlock was deeply in thought, unaware of other people's presence. The doctor decided to just sit on the other armchair and loudly clear his throat to announce his arrival.

It was only after the second cough that Sherlock finally realized he wasn't alone. He looked at his companion with raised eyebrows.

"Oh, hello, John." The detective said and gave him a quick smile. Then his gaze was absent once again, as he added: "I didn't hear you coming."

"I know." John replied. "How was the weekend?"

"The second condition has been met." Sherlock informed him.

"Oh…" Doctor Watson raised his eyebrows. "That's good, I suppose…"

He wanted to know more, but everything was telling him Sherlock won't elaborate. The detective won't explain to him how the visit went, how his parents reacted to the news on Sherrinford or even why they have to apologize in the first place. Sherlock's mind was now someplace else. Right now his friend had a problem to solve.

"Well," John started. "it seems that we only have to take care of the last one."

Sherlock's eyes turned to his friend as he suddenly seemed to be awoken from his trance.

"What 'last one'?"

"The third condition. You know, the one about Mycroft's burdens being lifted off?"

Sherlock only nodded with acknowledgement and went back to staring at the wall. He was silent for about thirty seconds, before he suddenly spoke:

"He blames himself, you know. About Sherrinford." John raised his eyebrows with surprise, but didn't say anything. Sherlock probably wasn't expecting any response, because he went on: "Objectively speaking, yes, to some extend it is his fault. He took a risk, he brought Moriarty and let him and Eurus talk with each other."

"Not very insightful of him." John gave his friend a sad smile.

He thought about it many times. Mycroft should have known back then that a meeting between two psychopaths will only result in something bad in the future. Someone as smart as him (someone, who was often gloating that he's smarter than his genius younger brother) should have at least prepared some kind of backup plan. Or just simply not agree to this. It was like Reichbach all over again…

"He blames himself for a lot of things." Sherlock went on. "For Garridebs, for governor, for Moriarty, for Eurus and Victor, for my drug addiction… probably even for tons of things in the past I'm not aware of."

John wanted to ask how Sherlock knew. He was curious if it was the case of brilliant deduction, or if Holmes brothers actually talked with each other. It was probably the former. With Sherlock and Mycroft any normal conversation seemed to be out of question.

But then doctor started to think about what Sherlock actually just said. At first Mycroft feeling guilt over Sherlock's drug use seemed ridiculous, but after a moment of reflection it started to make sense. After all, John remembered this somber expression on the older Holmes' face when they discovered what Sherlock did to himself on the plane. For years Mycroft was seeing his brother descending into addiction, and he must have felt helpless to stop it.

John also suspected that these things Sherlock wasn't aware of, were connected with Mycroft's job. Surely, after so many years of working for government, there had to be at least one horrible failure. A tragic death of thousands of people. A secret that shouldn't go out, but was revealed. An operation that went south, because of miscalculations. There had to be a game for high stakes that Mycroft lost.

Which begged the question…

"Why Eurus and Victor?"

And so Sherlock told John about Mycroft being the first who noticed there was something wrong with Eurus; about Mycroft trying to warn their parents, but not being believed; about him finally giving up and deciding to look after Sherlock on his own. Once the detective ended, the implications as to why Mycroft would feel guilty over Victor's death came up naturally in doctor's mind.

"But he was just a teenager. Adults couldn't make Eurus talk. What could _he_ do?" John asked.

"Don't tell _me_ this. Tell it to him." Sherlock said in his usual monotone voice. "Then again, he probably won't listen."

Another moment of silence and Sherlock's expression changed into more sad and detective gave a soft sigh.

"I know I should support him, make him feel less alone… My parents, Lady Smallwood and Anthea probably know what they should do for him too… But guilt… I can't do anything about the guilt."

"Well," John began. "you can tell him that not everything was his fault. That there are things simply beyond his control. That sometimes people act on their own and he can't do anything about it. I'm sure, he will understand."

"I've already told him." Sherlock whispered and gazed at his friend. "Long before he was turned into five year old."

John didn't say anything. In the silence that fell upon them, he once again remembered the moment when Mycroft Holmes was readying himself for death. Almost at the end, when Sherlock was hesitating and John told him not to shoot, his brother confessed that he let Moriarty talk with Eurus. Mycroft's plan was to make Sherlock hate him; to make him so angry for all the things he had said and done, that the detective would pull the trigger.

 _This is my fault…_ – He said to John.

 _This was my fault…_ – He said on the plane, when it turned out Sherlock resolved to drug abuse again. And John couldn't remember if he had ever seen Mycroft Holmes so sad, genuinely worried and out of witty remarks. And when he asked John to look after Sherlock, he wasn't demanding like always… This new side of the Iceman was odd, and so out of place that doctor Watson actually felt sympathetic towards him, probably for the first time ever.

And back then, in Sherrinford, Mycroft must have felt even more guilty. It was highly possible that it was partly guilt that urged him to sacrifice himself. Maybe in the wake of horrors that Eurus unleashed on them, Mycroft felt that the only way for his redemption went through death.

And when Lestrade informed Sherlock and John that Mycroft was only left in Eurus' old cell, visibly shaken, but otherwise alright, John said: _What goes around, comes around…_ Why did he say it? Why did he say it about the man who not so long time ago tried to give his life for John? Of course, his remark wasn't directed against Mycroft. It was just something that came to his mind at the time. Nevertheless, it sounded like he was siding with Eurus; like he actually thought that Mycroft deserved to be imprisoned without the knowledge of whenever his little brother was dead or alive. And who knew if Eurus left him with some kind of nasty message…

 _Mycroft… make sure he's looked after. He's not as strong as he think he is…_

Maybe he really wasn't. And maybe few people should keep it in mind, while interacting with him.

Suddenly they've heard the cracking of door. John's bedroom was opened and soon both Sherlock and Watson could see little Mycroft wiping his sleeping eyes and noticing them.

"Hello, doctor Watson." He greeted the guest. "You're here for the update on situation, I presume."

"Well, yes." John said, but then quickly added: "Can me and you talk in private?"

Mycroft didn't respond right away. He was just observing the man for a few seconds.

"If you insist, doctor Watson…" He said finally, opening the door wider.

John put his arms on the armrests and lifted himself up. Then he directed towards his former bedroom and went in. When he closed the door, Mycroft sat on the bed and looked at the physician with his usual professional (if not slightly smug) expression.

"How can I help you, doctor Watson?"

At first John only gazed at him, standing few inches from the door, not sure how to start. But after a moment of thought, he took two steps forward and said:

"You know, I never liked you, right?"

"I believe the feeling is mutual." Mycroft smiled.

"Do you remember our first meeting?" John started and sat on the bed, still observing the boy. "I thought you were some kind of an evil mastermind with obsession on Sherlock. You certainly wanted me to feel intimidated by you."

"That was my intention, yes." Mycroft replied shortly.

"But then you entered the crime scene and I've learned that you only wanted to keep your brother safe… in your own, special way." John said.

 _He's trying to make it easy for me to kill him…_

"My, my, doctor Watson, are you going sentimental with me?" Mycroft chuckled cheerlessly.

After a short pause John went on:

"You do it often, you know? You act all cold and calculating, only to reveal a minute later that you actually have a heart in this chest of yours."

" _Not in the face though, please. I promised my brain to the Royal Society._ _"_

" _Where would you suggest?"_

" _Well, I suppose there is a heart somewhere inside me. I don't imagine it's much of a target, but why don't we try for that?"_

"You Holmeses… Just when I think that I've seen everything from you, you surprise me. And most of the time you do it by showing how utterly _human_ you can be." He gave the boy sad look. "And of all the people in the world, I would have never imagined that the one Holmes who'd put their life for me, would be you."

For a moment Mycroft wasn't saying anything. He was just observing John with a somber look, probably reflecting on what he just heard. Then he smiled sadly and said:

"So this is the reason behind this sudden compassion towards me… You do realize, doctor Watson, that I didn't do it for you?"

"Yes." John replied. "That one was always obvious about you. You can say you're an Iceman all you want; you can say that caring is not in advantage; you can say that you have no heart, but we both know that's not true. Or maybe you just simply delude yourself and really think that you don't care for anybody."

"On the contrary, doctor Watson." Mycroft smiled again. "I am aware that my fondness of Sherlock is a weakness my enemies might use against me. It actually happened with Adler and Magnussen. And then happened again in Sherrinford." He straightened himself and gave a soft sigh, before he added: "Alas, when one has a weak spot, he either eliminates it, or guards it in a way that doesn't arouse suspicion of the opponent. I do the latter, but it's hard, since my weakness tends to get himself into trouble all the time…"

"Please, don't call Sherlock that." John cut him off. "He is not your weakness. _Love_ is not weakness."

"You know I hate sentiment, doctor Watson. So spare me the monologues about the power of love and friendship."

"So how about that: have you ever wondered if you're someone's pressure point?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I can take care of myself."

"But there _are_ people who care about you, Mycroft. Believe it or not, there are people, who wish you well. I know it's a hard concept for you, but bear with me. Your parents, your coworkers, even Sherlock… You are not alone and you don't have to be."

Mycroft, again, was just observing his interlocutor, before he gave John a sad smile and finally spoke:

" _All you need is love_ , eh, doctor Watson?"

"Yes, all you need is love." John didn't let Mycroft think that his mockery had any effect on the physician. "You isolated yourself from others for far too long. People need other people and no matter how you look at it, if you want to be grown up again, you have to let others help you carry your burden."

Mycroft sighed, dropping his gaze.

"I appreciate your concern, doctor Watson." He began. "Once again you proved to be a good friend of my brother. But, _please_ ," He looked at John. "you can't seriously believe that love can erase all the bad things happening in the world."

"Well, it certainly helps at times." Doctor Watson pointed out.

Was it his imagination or did his words surprised Mycroft? Either way, he quickly came back to his usual expression.

"Is that all, doctor Watson?" He asked.

"There is one last thing." John stood up. "And I want you to listen carefully, because it's important."

"Well then…" Mycroft tangled his hands and put them on his lap. He gave his guest a fake smile. "I'm all ears."

"As much as you'd like to think otherwise," The doctor started. "you don't have power over everything and everybody. You're not responsible for every possible tragedy in your and Sherlock's life."

John didn't know what Mycroft thought of his words. It seemed like he was reflecting about them for couple of seconds, observing his guest with a look of deep thought. Doctor Watson simply waited for some kind a response – a witty remark, a dismissal, a bitter smile… When none of it came, and the silence became even more awkward, John decided to just leave.

"Anyway, that's all I wanted to say." He said, turning to the door. "Good luck with growing up."

"Doctor Watson…" Mycroft suddenly called after him just when John put his hand on the doorknob. The physician looked back at him. The boy gave him small, but genuine smile and added: "I'm glad, you didn't take my bribe."

John smiled back.

"Well, you know what they say: stranger danger."

And with that being said, he left the room. In the corridor, he gazed to the living room, where Sherlock was still sitting on the armchair. But this time he was doing something with the strings of his violin, so he probably was preparing himself for another brain storm. He did, however, turned back to face John.

"He probably won't listen to you, but thank you for your input."

John only smiled to him weakly and said:

"Call me, if you need something."

"Oh, definitely." Sherlock replied.

John was thinking about staying for a tea with Mrs. Hudson, but decided against that. He knew, he would feel awkward, talking about random things with a landlady, while thinking about an odd situation with older Holmes brother. So he just said goodbye to both of his friends and went pick up Rosie.


	12. The third condition

**Although, the last condition is met in that chapter, I will probably make a something of an epilogue. There are scenes post Mycroft being brought back to normal that I want to include.**

 **Anyway, comments will be appreciated.**

 **The third condition**

Another night, another nightmare. Mycroft felt exhausted, but happy to be awake. He could hear Sherlock's snorting in other room, and if he spared some time, he would deduce where Mrs. Hudson was. Nevertheless, the awareness of him being on Baker Street with this annoying woman and his brother was soothing. Just the fact that he was far away from Sherrinford… The horrors of this fateful day were still vivid in his mind, but there was something he could anchor himself in – Sherlock was in his room, safe and sound, and Mycroft himself was alive, if not a bit smaller than usual.

 _All you need is love_ – lying in his bed, Mycroft decided to occupy his mind with this song. Or rather: it came back in the silence of the night. This song was so sentimental, so stupid, and yet, he couldn't stop thinking about it. Why would his mind bring it up? Of course, he understood to some extend – doctor Watson wasn't very subtle about it.

 _You isolated yourself from others for far too long._ _People need other people and no matter how you look at it, if you want to be grown up again, you have to let others help you carry your burden._

But Mycroft was always alone. Dealing with his demons on his own – he was used to it. It was always others who needed him. His family, coworkers, superiors, even countless people he had never met. He was strong enough to carry burdens on his own. He managed to pull himself together in his darkest hours, without any help. He didn't need emotional support. He didn't need anybody to come to him, console him, hug him, tell him everything will be okay. Why should he expect it now, of all times?

Oh, poor, naïve doctor Watson and his simplistic way of thinking… He always thought that isolating oneself from people was a bad thing. He never realized that Mycroft might like being alone. Mycroft wasn't like Sherlock, hell-bent on self-destruction. He could be safely left with himself.

 _All you need is love…_

Whenever Mycroft was thinking about love, he was seeing Lady Smallwood in his mind. Not because he considered Alicia his significant other, but because Love was her codename. A peculiar one to say at least. After all she was a woman of steel, a professional. Mycroft would never think of her as flirtatious or romantic, or even overly affectionate.

 _But even someone like you isn't invincible…_

She did, however, care for her family… Her relationship with Lord Smallwood might not have been the best, but she wanted to protect him from Magnussen. And let's not forget about her daughter. For sure, Alicia was a doting mother, who would do anything for her child. Just like Mycroft would do anything for Sherlock…

"Isn't this the stupidest thing ever?" A familiar voice spoke in a hushed tone.

Mycroft only looked at the nightstand, where miniature Herbert was sitting.

"What exactly?" The boy whispered, unsurprised by cherub's sudden presence.

"That people reduce love to only one aspect? Like the only love that ever mattered in the world is the romantic one? Or worse – the sexual one? What about parental love? What about friendship? What about brotherly love? What about compassion? Not to mention, the greatest Love of all… Are they insignificant? Aren't they enough?"

"So you're here to lecture me about the meaning of love?" Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

"I merely share an opinion." Herbert went on. "It's always driving me crazy… this shallow notion about the greatest thing in universe. Humans spent generations talking about different kinds of love, and it's so frustrating that there are still people who reduce it to romance… Humanity is better than this. Don't you agree, mister Holmes?"

"I don't know." Mycroft replied, dropping his gaze. "I don't contemplate such things often."

"You know what I like the most about you, mister Holmes?" Herbert said. "In spite of your insistence that caring is not in advantage, you're still a caring man. That's the coolest thing about you. Not the sword in the umbrella, not your impeccable looks, not your remarkable intellect, but the fact that you _care_."

"Well, Moriarty called me 'the Iceman'…" Mycroft began. He really wanted to deny cherub's words, but Herbert cut him off:

"We both know that if you really were the Iceman, you wouldn't put your life on the line for doctor Watson. For goodness' sake, you wouldn't even bother saving your brother from his addiction. You would also probably either kill or lobotomize your sister. No, mister Holmes, you're not made of ice."

"Is there a reason, you're telling me all of this?" Mycroft asked, turning to the cherub.

"Just a little prompt." Herbert grinned. "I'm sure you already got the right idea."

But then his smile weakened. For couple of seconds he was silently observing Mycroft with a sad look, before he finally said:

"You know, you're a child now."

"Yes, I know." Mycroft replied, exasperate. "Everybody keeps telling me this."

"And what do children do after a nightmare?" The cherub added with a soft smile.

And he disappeared without any further explanation. But Mycroft didn't need it. He knew exactly what Herbert expected him to do now. The boy was contemplating it. It would be such a sentimental thing to do. A sign of weakness. If anyone would know about this, it would be embarrassing and Mycroft would never hear the end of it from Sherlock. Still, once the idea was planted in his mind, some part of him was tempted to just go on with it. After all, he should do childish things…

So Mycroft sat up, removed his cover, jumped off of the bed and quickly directed to Sherlock's room. He knocked gently at the door and waited couple of seconds for an answer. While waiting, he wondered if it was a good idea. Maybe he should go back to his bedroom and just try to go to sleep on his own. He knocked once again, just in case. If there will be no answer now, he was going to abandon this silly idea.

He heard a moan, then a cracking of the mattress, and then someone's footsteps. When the door has been finally opened and when Mycroft raised his head, he saw Sherlock in his pajamas and with ruffled hair. The detective's sleepy gaze landed on his brother.

"What do you want?" He asked, blinking slowly.

"I was thinking…" Mycroft began, but cut off, not knowing how to phrase what he wanted to ask for.

Thankfully, Sherlock seemed to deduce it, because he suddenly smiled and said:

"Someone doesn't want to sleep alone tonight, huh?"

Mycroft felt stupid. He just gave his little brother a good subject for teasing.

"Forget it, brother mine." Mycroft said and turned back. "This was a bad idea."

Suddenly the boy felt someone's grip on his arm, stopping him from leaving. Mycroft looked back at Sherlock with surprise. The detective smiled to him sympathetically.

"Come." He opened the door wider and pulled Mycroft inside.

All of a sudden Mycroft found himself in his brother's room. Sherlock himself went back to his bed, lied on his left side and raised the cover with invitation. And the boy once gain thought that this was a stupid idea. Still, some part of him wanted to go in.

"Well, now Mrs. Hudson will certainly think that you are a creepy uncle." Mycroft commented.

"Or she will find us adorable. You know how old ladies are…" Sherlock replied. "Come on, don't be difficult."

Mycroft remembered… Back when he was an only child, he was sometimes coming to his parents' bedroom, when he had a nightmare or when he was scared of thunders; and for the rest of the night he was sleeping with them. When Sherlock and Eurus came, it was happening less and less, since he didn't want to be considered someone who gets easily scared in the night. No, he was supposed to be an older brother, not scared of such trivial things as darkness or thunders. Moreover, he soon found himself being the one little Sherlock was coming to during stormy nights. It was weird and often troublesome, but what could he say? It was a role of a big brother. But he still remembered how nice it was lying in the same bed as his parents. For child as himself it felt like nothing in the world could harm him…

Mycroft gave a soft sigh and got into bed. Sherlock put the cover down and embraced his brother with right arm, pulling him closer. It was a strange feeling, obviously – being in this position, being the one comforted by Sherlock and not the other way around… It seemed wrong. After all Mycroft was supposed to be fearless.

"By the way, brother mine," He turned his head to look at Sherlock. "you won't tell anybody about this."

"Mycroft, how long do we know each other? You think I won't use this perfect opportunity to tease you for the rest of your days?" The detective said.

"Well then, I guess, I should tell your friends and acquaintances all the embarrassing stories from your childhood. I'm sure sergeant Donovan would be happy to hear all about your mushroom performance in elementary school days."

Mycroft expected some kind of witty comeback, but he was greeted with something else.

"I've told the teacher, I can't sing." Sherlock huffed.

"Yes, well," His brother started. "we both know that teachers don't listen to people who are clearly smarter than them."

He could hear Sherlock's chuckle.

"You know, in retrospect we were horrible students. Constantly proving teachers wrong, getting into fights, making mess in chemistry labs… No wonder nobody liked us."

"I could live with that." Mycroft replied. "They've had nothing interesting to say, anyway. Their ignorance was almost painful to listen."

"Oh, the horror of listening to ordinary people…" Sherlock said, chuckling once again. "Truly, a fate worse than death."

"No." Mycroft turned his head to face his brother. "The fate worse than death is going with Mummy and Daddy on one of their ridiculous musicals. Try to sit through _Grease_ and not wish for a terrorist attack to occur."

"Would you go out with them on, say, _Evita_?" Sherlock asked.

"And watch David Lloyd Webber butcher history of Argentina?" Mycroft scoffed and went back to observing the space in front of him. "Goodness, no!" He whispered.

"You know, you're a child now. You should like Disney and majority of Disney flicks are musicals."

Mycroft looked at his brother again and pointed finger at him warningly.

"If you subject me to _Frozen_ , _Little Mermaid_ , or _Lion King_ , I swear, Sherlock, I will make your life a living hell."

"Yeah, you already do, brother dear, so this threat holds no weight. Besides, don't you know that _Lion King_ is _Hamlet_ with lions?"

For a moment Mycroft wasn't saying anything. He just looked at Sherlock with raised eyebrows. Then he rested his head on the pillow and said:

"That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard."

Sherlock chuckled again. A small laughter escaped Mycroft's mouth too. This felt right – them both just talking about things they found annoying or idiotic. Some teasing here, some complains on Mummy and Daddy there… Just a little moment between two brothers. Generally in moments like this one, there was always some urgent thing at the back of Mycroft's head, something he had to do right after he will leave Sherlock. Millions of big and small details he had to keep an eye on. His mind was never resting.

He also felt that way, when he was playing on the swing set. Even though there was some sensation of freedom, he still couldn't forget about the work that was waiting for him; or about the horrors he recently went through. Each time when he was feeling almost carefree, his mind was reminding him about things happening in the world that he should monitor right now; or about all the little inconveniences of his current predicament; or about Eurus tormenting him, Sherlock and doctor Watson. And the spell was broken.

But this time there was nothing. There was just him, Sherlock and this little moment of pure fun. Mycroft liked it there – it was warm and cozy, and relaxing. For the first time in ages, Mycroft felt nothing was calling for his immediate attention, nothing was reminding him about his huge responsibilities waiting for him outside Baker Street… nothing was bringing back unwanted memories from Sherrinford. There was only here and now. Hell, he didn't even remember what the nightmare he had was about!

They talked about random things – carefree memories from their childhood, latest embarrassing hobbies of their parents, movies they saw, books they've read, experiments Sherlock conducted… And somewhere around four am the warmth and coziness made Mycroft drift into peaceful sleep. When he closed eyes and let himself fall into slumber, he felt like all the burdens has been lifted off of him.

* * *

Herbert was sitting on the nightstand and staring at the sleeping pair with a smile. It was a really sweet picture – covers kicked out on the floor, revealing little Mycroft lying on Sherlock's stomach and Sherlock's left hand on his brother's head, like he was petting his hair in sleep. The cherub couldn't help but think about the past days, when he was observing his idol in smaller form. A lot happened since Mycroft Holmes was turned into a child. The results exceeded Herbert's expectations and now he only wished that the progress that was made will last. He really wanted this story to have a happy ending.

He stood up, flew to Holmes brothers and started to poke their shoulders.

"Hey, I don't want to be that guy, but you should probably get up." He said.

Once they opened their eyes and looked at the cherub, Herbert sat back on the nightstand, crossing his legs and snapped his fingers. A list appeared in his hands, alongside with reading glasses on his nose.

"So let's see…" He looked at the list and read out loud: " _One: Sherlock will be a big brother for more than one day…_ " He gazed at the still sleepy brothers and said: "For the past week and a half Sherlock Holmes proved to be a doting big brother."

Sherlock and Mycroft sat up, as Herbert proceeded:

"He took care of his brother's physical, psychological and emotional wellbeing. He provided comfort, devoted himself to lift Mycroft Holmes' burden and defended him in front of their parents." The cherub then looked at Mycroft and asked: "Do you have any objections regarding your brother's performance, mister Holmes? Are there things he did wrong?"

Mycroft started to contemplate this question. Herbert, who possessed an ability to read human minds, looked into the boy's head. Mycroft was remembering various things Sherlock did throughout this whole time.

" _I will turn you back to normal, I promise…"_

" _You will break their hearts."_

" _No. I will save yours…"_

"Voila! _Diogenes Attic!"_

Mycroft looked at cherub with soft expression and said:

"Well, he made a decent job. Although, there is a room for improvement."

"Always a critic." Sherlock replied, but smirked at his brother.

Herbert looked at the list again:

" _Two: Mycroft's parents will sincerely apologize to him…_ " He gazed at Holmes brothers. "After long conversation between them and their two sons, Siger Holmes went to Mycroft's room and apologized for his mistakes. After persuasion from Sherlock, Anthea and myself, Violet did the same the very next day. Mister Holmes," Herbert turned to Mycroft again. "you've suspected that your mother's apologies won't be sincere. Do you think that any of your parents wasn't genuine with their remorse?"

Mycroft contemplated cherub's question once again. He remembered tears in eyes of both of his parents. He remembered his father confessing to him that he was once scared for his eldest son's life. He remembered his mother admitting that she shouldn't call him an 'idiot boy'. He remembered how both of them showed him an actual affection – something that after the encounter in his office was greatly appreciated.

"I think Mummy and Daddy were sincere." Mycroft replied with a smile.

Herbert smiled back and turned to the list.

" _And three: Mycroft will feel like all of his burdens has been lifted off his shoulders…_ " He snapped his fingers and the list disappeared. Then he leaned forward and rested his hand on the lap. "That was a tricky one, I admit. Both family and work acquaintances of mister Holmes did everything to give him time to rest and assure him about their support."

 _But even someone like you isn't invincible, and judging by the fact that recently you're spending your nights here instead of your own house, you're not copying very well…_

 _I don't like your uncle Mycroft, but I do wish him well…_

 _I did many stupid,_ stupid _things and you got hurt. I should have listen to you more often. And if there is anything you ever need, tell me. I will try to be there for you…_

 _Mycroft, honey, you're my child and it's my duty as a mother is to keep you straight. But sometimes I get carried away and forget that you're trying really hard to make everything right. Even if things are beyond your control…_

 _You're not responsible for every possible tragedy in your and Sherlock's life…_

"But ultimately," Herbert said, cutting Mycroft's train of thought. "it all came down to one moment of lightheartedness. One moment when you will forget about all your responsibilities and just feel free. It almost happened on the swing set, but I guess, it was too soon." He looked at Mycroft and gave him a friendly smile. "I've told earlier Mrs. Holmes that conditions first and second are necessary for the third one to be fulfilled. It wasn't as much of the matter of Sherlock being good brother and your parents apologizing to you, as just for you to be away from your responsibilities for a long time. You also needed a good company." Herbert smiled even wider. "Tell me, mister Holmes, have such a think occurred lately?"

Sherlock looked at Mycroft. For a moment the boy was silent, but soon his expression changed into realization. His brother noticed it too and the detective's eyebrows has been raised.

"Of course…" Mycroft said and stood up. "It happened last night."

Sherlock didn't say anything. Herbert didn't have to read his mind to know that he felt happy about it.

"Which brings up the question," The cherub started. "should I turn you back to normal now? Or maybe wait a little longer?"

Holmes brothers exchanged looks of understanding. They were staring at each other for about half a minute, like there was some kind of mental conversation going on. Then Mycroft turned to Herbert and explained:

"Well, considering that sudden appearance of adult me in place of 'Mike' would probably disturb Mrs. Hudson; and that I don't have clothes for change here, it would be much wiser if we wait, say, to three pm."

"Three pm?" Herbert raised his eyebrows and looked at younger Holmes. "Are you okay with this?"

At first Sherlock was surprised to be asked about his opinion, but then his expression changed to more emotionless. A moment of silence passed as he seemed to contemplate the question, before he straightened himself and finally replied:

"I don't have a say in that question. My brother will go back to being adult when he wishes to be."

Still Herbert could read some sadness in him. Sherlock would like for Mycroft to stay a child for a little longer. Moreover, Mycroft seemed to notice it too.

"Maybe let's go with midnight." He offered. "It would be like reverse-Cinderella."

"Excellent. Then, I will come back then." Herbert said and disappeared, leaving Holmes brothers on their own.


	13. Love is all you need

**The final chapter. The great epilogue to end this story, one of my best fanfiction to date. I've tried to make this chapter as optimistic as possible for our favorite Iceman.**

 **Please, leave a comment and tell me how you liked this story, overall. Tell me also if there was a part you liked the most.**

 **Love is all you need**

Sherlock couldn't believe it was going to be over soon. Now, when all the conditions has been met and his brother will go back to his responsibilities as member of government and member of Holmes family, the detective couldn't help, but feel some kind of melancholy. He got used to Mycroft being a child, for once not expected to put upon himself this horrible burden of his. He got used to the role of a big brother.

This was such a weird, eye-opening experience. Of course, Sherlock was aware for quite some time of many things bothering Mycroft… But this was a complete change of dynamics. Sherlock had to look at his brother – this always strong, responsible, influential brother – as someone who literally needed his help and protection. It must have been frustrating to him to say at least – being so vulnerable and out of control. Probably Mycroft couldn't wait until midnight when he will be brought back to normal.

But even though Sherlock did everything to fulfill all three conditions, the approaching end made him share some of Mummy's previous sentiments. Some part of him wished for Mycroft to stay a child, not burdened by the darkness of this world. Alas, it couldn't be changed. Sherlock could only make something off of the remaining time of Mycroft's second childhood.

First he informed Mrs. Hudson that "Mike's" parents called to cut his vacation early and that the boy will go back home today. The old landlady reacted the way, he suspected her to react.

"Oh, it's so sad… I will miss you, Mike." Then Mrs. Hudson took him by the hand and started to lead to the kitchen. "Come here. I will make you pancakes for breakfast…"

And so Mycroft ate his last breakfast, being spoiled by Mrs. Hudson. Then Sherlock took his brother for the one last trip to the park and observed one last time as Mycroft was playing on the swing set. Just like the first time, he seemed to be just a carefree child. And Sherlock wanted to capture this view in his memory so it won't be lost forever. There were so many things he wished to do with this small Mycroft. So many childish things his brother soon won't be allowed to do. And there was so little time…

Next thing Sherlock did was taking Mycroft to cinema and watch some animated movie. After all, cartoons were such a kid thing… Of course, Mycroft at first was skeptical of this idea, since he would much rather see something more sophisticated, but Sherlock managed to persuade him to watch something age appropriate, but less mainstream (the detective was honestly surprised to learn that _Kubo and the Two Strings_ was still playing; it must have been some kind of a miracle). They bought a middle sized popcorn and cola and sat in the farest row. Mycroft liked the movie – he thought that story was a bit predictable, but he was clearly mesmerized by the visuals.

After the movie they went back to Baker Street to rest. While Mycroft took a nap, Sherlock picked inside to look at his brother's sleeping form. One last slumber of "Mike" in John's former bedroom. Who knew when Mycroft would be able to sleep so peacefully, without the nightmares? Who knew when Sherlock's brother would be able to rest fully in his line of work? There will be lots of sleepless nights… Lots of nights filled with past horrors and current threats… Nights far away from not-so-safe home, nights spent in the cold office… And it was breaking Sherlock's heart. He had to do something about it…

One last dinner with Mrs. Hudson (potatoes and fish)… One last dessert (chocolate ice-cream)… And around seven pm Holmes brothers decided to finally go "to train station" (Mycroft's house).

"I really liked you here, Mike." Mrs. Hudson said as they were preparing to leave. Then she hugged him tightly, to his chagrin.

Sherlock beamed at this sight… but then his smile weakened. One last display of affection from Mrs. Hudson for "Mike"…

"I liked it here too." Mycroft replied and they broke the embrace. "Thank you for your hospitality."

"You're always welcome, honey." The landlady assured him. "But hey," She added with a smile. "maybe you will visit us someday?"

"Maybe." Was the only thing Mycroft replied. He even managed to pull out a small smile.

"Maybe next time," Mrs. Hudson added. "Rosie will be old enough to play with you."

"Maybe." Mycroft repeated, his smile weaker than earlier. "Maybe next time…"

Both Holmes boys knew it was highly unlikely; that the landlady from Baker Street was seeing "Mike" one last time. She will probably never hear from him again and will never find out about his true identity.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft said and Sherlock opened the door for them.

They decided to take "Mike's" clothes with themselves. Mycroft was going to donate them anonymously to some charity. So once they've managed to catch a cab, they put all the bags in the trunk. Then Sherlock told the driver Mycroft's address and off they went.

The brothers were sitting in the silence on the way of their final destination. From time to time Sherlock's gaze was landing on Mycroft settled on the car seat. The elder Holmes was observing the view through the window, just like when they were riding to the mall to buy him clothes for two weeks. That seemed to be ages ago… And now Mycroft had last opportunity to look at the world outside – world that was bigger than him in almost every aspect…

They've got to Mycroft's place. When Sherlock took the bags and paid the cab driver, they started to walk towards big house of his brother.

Once inside, Mycroft looked at Sherlock and said:

"Suit yourself, brother mine. There might be still something in the fridge."

Next he began to climb upstairs where his bedroom was. Sherlock didn't move from his spot, he was just observing little boy, before he finally spoke:

"You know…" Mycroft stopped in the midway and looked back at him. Sherlock went on: "I'm not sure if I'll get used to you being adult again."

Mycroft turned his whole body to face Sherlock. His gaze was somber, when he replied:

"Yes, I can see why a big brother would have a hard time to see his sibling as an adult. After all, he's used to being the one protecting them."

There was a moment of silence as both Holmes brothers were looking at each other, not moving from their spots.

"I can stay with you, you know."

"Well, you have to. It would be a child neglect, if you won't." Mycroft pointed out.

"No, I mean, I can stay with adult you. Maybe tonight or tomorrow… Just hang out couple of days… Play Deduction… Watch telly… Give you hell…" Sherlock explained.

"I'm not lonely, Sherlock." His brother repeated an old mantra, but the detective could notice a fade smile on Mycroft's lips.

"Yes, I _know_ , but maybe _I_ am? Have you thought about that?"

This time Mycroft smiled for real.

"I will think about this offer." He turned back and started to walk up the stairs again. "Meanwhile, you find a good excuse for coming back late. Mrs. Hudson will greatly appreciate it."

* * *

Lady Smallwood took a deep breath, seeing familiar figure exiting the town car and approaching her at the main building of their workplace. A tall, sharp dressed middle-aged man with umbrella in his hand stood beside his superior and looked at her from the corner of his eye.

"Good morning, Lady Smallwood." He said politely.

"Good morning, mister Holmes." She replied and smiled.

She knew he will come back today. He informed her about it. Still, having him here so soon felt odd – right and wrong at the same time. Right, because he was back on his place and everything was familiar again. Wrong, because Alicia still thought he needed to rest.

They walked inside.

"You know," She started as they approached the reception desk. "you shouldn't have cut your vacation short."

"Should I leave so many delicate operations to amateurs then?" He chuckled. "Besides, I can escape politics only for so long…"

After writing down their names in reception, Mycroft directed towards his office. Instead of going to hers, Alicia followed him.

"Still, if you need remaining days for yourself, nobody will hold it against you."

Mycroft stopped abruptly and turned to his interlocutor. Lady Smallwood stopped too and for a moment he was just observing her carefully, before his face softened and he replied:

"I appreciate your concern, Alicia, but I'm fine." He started to walk towards his office again. "Besides," He added with annoyance. "you can't possibly imagine how dull my vacation was. I was with my _parents_ , for goodness' sake! You know, how they are…"

"Yes, you've told me many times." Lady Smallwood smiled.

She stopped and watched as he was going through the corridor – an elegant gentleman using umbrella as his cane. She would lie if she said that she didn't miss him here. Not just his expertise, his quick thinking and professionalism, but also his little dramatics, his smugness and the way he seemed to always be mildly annoyed with "normal" people. Yes, this place wasn't the same without Mycroft Holmes.

"You know, the drink offer still stands!" She called after him.

"Maybe later, Lady Smallwood!" He said not even looking at her.

She smiled one last and directed to her own office.

* * *

Anthea observed as her employer was taking the reins. They've had meetings with couple of MI6 agents and people from ministry of defense. There were always people criticizing the way mister Holmes was doing things. Most of the time he didn't care for them much, because he was proving to be more than capable of doing his job with great results. The absence of Anthea's boss for the past week and a half was just another reason for people in various ministries to question his abilities and whenever person like him should be given such a big power. However, when mister Holmes met with them, he reminded them, why he was in this position to begin with.

During her employer's absence his surrogates were doing… not so bad, but once he came back, Anthea could really notice the difference. Sure, most people in this line of work knew how to resolve hostage situation or what various political consequences they should be aware of. And sure, it wasn't like Secret Service and the government of Great Britain didn't have individuals with confidence, experience or insightfulness proper for the job. However, the way mister Holmes was resolving problems… it was almost magical. He could see what most people couldn't see; he could connect two seemingly unrelated issues and show why they were important to the United Kingdom; he could find an unorthodox solutions to threats emerging from modern terrorism. And he was doing it with such confidence, such finesse, such grace, one would never doubt that he was irreplaceable; that this man was truly a British Government incarnate.

Watching him take control and show that he still got all the chops to do his job, was immensely satisfying. On the surface Anthea acted as her usual reserved self, but on the inside she couldn't help, but cheer him on silently.

"It's good to have you back, sir." She confessed at the end of the day, offering a small smile.

He glanced at her, while putting his coat on.

"It will sound like a cliché, but it's good to be back." He replied, buttoning himself. "In the end, there's nothing more stimulating than work."

It was only when he took his umbrella off the hook, when Anthea realized that – unlike for the past four weeks before his unusual vacation – he was actually preparing to _leave_ his office. As far as she knew there were no more things for today that required mister Holmes' attention. So did it mean he was actually going to spend this night in home?

"Excuse me, sir." The assistant began and her boss looked at her with raised eyebrows. "Did some emergency occurred?"

"Oh, no, Anthea." He flashed her an assuring smile. "Unless I get informed otherwise, we are free for tonight."

"So you're going home, sir?" She asked.

"Well, yes, but I will have guests." Mycroft explained. "My brother and doctor Watson insisted to come to my place tonight. Apparently they think I need company."

Anthea had some idea why they would think that.

"Should I come too?" She asked. "Just in case?"

He didn't respond right away. He just observed her for couple of seconds, probably contemplating her offer, before he said:

"I don't want you to change your plans…"

"Don't worry, sir." She smiled. "I didn't plan nothing special for tonight."

"Well then," He turned to her. "I will be glad to have you there. God knows, I need someone other than myself who will act maturely there."

And so Anthea got her things and together with her boss started to leave. On their way outside mister Holmes invited also Lady Smallwood, because he needed "as much backup against his brother as possible".

* * *

"Ah, brother mine, doctor Watson…" Mycroft started, but suddenly noticed one additional guest.

He straightened himself, remembering that he was supposed to be nice to her now. So he smiled politely and said:

"Mrs. Hudson, what a lovely surprise…"

"Sherlock and John thought you can use some company and invited me along. I hope you don't mind, they've brought me here."

"Of course not, Mrs. Hudson. Please, come in." He added to all three residents of Baker Street and moved aside.

They entered his house but before they even began to take their outwear off, Sherlock commented:

"I see, you started a party without us. Then again, knowing you, brother mine, two women in this house are perfectly safe from sexual harassment."

Mrs. Hudson raised her eyebrows with surprise and John glared at Sherlock. Mycroft was going to say something, but Lady Smallwood appeared in the doorframe to the living room and replied:

"Good evening to you too, mister Holmes." He turned to Sherlock's companions and approached them. "Doctor Watson, long time no see. Mrs. Hudson." She smiled to the landlady.

"Please, take your outwear and come to the dining room." Mycroft proposed. "I will serve dinner soon."

They did as they were told, but Sherlock had to add a snarky comment about his brother's diet. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but secretly smiled to himself. He already felt more lighthearted.

"By the way, Mrs. Hudson…" He turned to the landlady and she immediately stopped and looked at him, surprised. Mycroft gave her another polite smile and added: "Mike wanted me to tell you that he found your company very enjoyable. He also sends his love to you."

She instantly beamed with happiness.

"Oh, he's such a sweet boy… Thank you, Mycroft."

The dinner went in nice atmosphere. They were talking about lighthearted things, never once mentioning politics or other unpleasant topics. They also didn't mention the latest peculiar incident (and, obviously, giving the presence of Mrs. Hudson, they couldn't). From time to time Sherlock was giving some snide remark about his brother, but Mycroft also didn't stay silent.

Their playful banter continued in the living room, where they decided to play Deduction Game with items doctor Watson and Anthea provided (and which they took from various acquaintances of both brothers). Mycroft was going to deduce the owners of objects brought by John, while Sherlock – the owners of the ones Anthea showed.

Obviously, the audience was divided between people cheering on the Holmes brother they liked the most. So doctor Watson and Mrs. Hudson sided with Sherlock, while Anthea and Alicia sided with Mycroft. It was a long, intense fight as both brothers tried hard to analyze items brought by John and Anthea and deduce as much information as possible. Mycroft deduced right that a very old lighter with carved camel belonged to Lestrade, while Sherlock knew that a pendant with a zircon heart was a property of Anthea.

"Okay, brother mine." Mycroft said suddenly and stood up. He left a room for a moment and came back with a small brown teddy bear with a blue bow. He put it on the coffee table and added with a smirk: "Here's something more challengeable. Tell me something about the owner of this plushie."

Of course, Lady Smallwood and Anthea knew this teddy, but Sherlock, John and Mrs. Hudson didn't. Mycroft never showed it to them (well, there was always a possibility that one of them snooped around his things and saw it… and that would up the game even more).

Sherlock took the teddy bear and examined it from every possible angle. He even squished it once or twice. Finally, after about thirty seconds of inspection he looked at his brother and said:

"This is a fairly knew teddy bear. Probably purchased last week by someone who knows the child. Not a parent, though. This is clearly a 'safe' gift. A parent would choose something closer to their child's interests."

"I don't know, brother mine. Infants, for example, are happy with a simple teddy bears." Mycroft smiled.

"Ah, but this is clearly a barely touched gift. There's no bite marks and certainly nobody was sleeping with it, judging by the way the contents are located. I would argue that this is a gift for an adult man from his girlfriend… However, there are small, barely visible stitches, right here." He pointed at the space between teddy's head and torso, where neck should be. "This teddy was torn there, but it wasn't the accident. The cut is too clean. So it leaves us with other solution: The toy was opened for purpose. Someone wanted to put something in it. A bomb? Hmm… unlikely, giving the size. The tracking device is more probable. This is a gadget for someone who must be protected. A tracking device is a precaution in case of kidnapping of missing. Let's say this person will get kidnapped. His abductors will be far less suspicious of teddy bear in child's possession. So a tracking device for an important child…"

Sherlock looked at the teddy again, then turned to his brother and put the toy on the coffee table. When Mycroft glanced at John, the good doctor seemed to finally catch up with older Holmes' little trick. For now, the only oblivious person here was Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock raised his chin and asked:

"How's Mike doing?"

Everybody looked at Mycroft who only smiled in delight. He needed a moment to reply, because there was something in Sherlock's eyes which expressed concern hidden behind his usual neutral look. He knew why Mycroft showed him the bear. This was supposed to be a silent confrontation that couldn't happen openly in front of Mrs. Hudson. Besides, even if it weren't for Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft would do it that way. He never liked sentiment.

And so the elder Holmes smiled again, this time a bit more sympathetically and finally gave a response:

"He's better than he was a week ago." Mycroft dropped his gaze and straightened himself, before he looked his brother again. "He still has trouble sleeping, but he knows there's nothing to be scared of. I mean," He smirked. "Mike's not idiot. He's aware that world is a dark, scary place. But," Mycroft reached for a teddy and stared at it for a little longer with a solemn expression. "he's also aware that he doesn't need to face this darkness alone."

The elder Holmes put the toy back on the coffee table, observing his brother. Sherlock immediately smiled. Other guests were happy to hear Mycroft's response too.

"That's good to know." The detective commented. "Tell him that he can always call."

"He will keep it in mind." Mycroft replied. "Now, who's up for some tea?"

Everybody told the him their request, as their host directed to the kitchen.

Little did they know that they were observed. Sitting on the staircase and watching everything from safe distance was a cherub. As every respectable cherub he had round face, big, blue eyes and light curly hair. His small wings stayed hidden under his woolen jacket. He seemed innocent and as angel-like as most cherubs in human form could be. But although he was on the side of the angels, he was always considered kind of crazy. And impulsive.

And right now Herbert couldn't help, but grinning like crazy. His plan worked and – at least for now – there was nothing else he could do. So he stood up and whispered:

"Goodbye, mister Holmes. I'm leaving you in good hands."

And with that, he disappeared, hopeful for Mycroft Holmes' future.


End file.
